Reflection or Perception?
by Lauraa.Ann
Summary: When Sam and Dean Winchester inadvertently come face to face with the BAU team over a case questions are raised over the true culprit of the vicious crimes. They will have to come together to form an unlikely partnership to uncover the true meaning behind the Night Slasher killings. Co-written by sexdrugsandoreos.
1. Chapter 1

**Reflection or Perception?  
****Chapter 1**

This crossover is set in Season 5 of Supernatural and Season 5 of Criminal Minds, it is co-written by sexdrugsandoreos

* * *

There was a darkness that consumed the entirety of the street, it was common for figures to camouflage into nothingness as they walked the path that was never lit. He had walked this path before, a path that had led to his capture but no more, he was free and he would continue inflicting pain upon those whom most deserved such punishment.

The first sign of light catches his eye, this is his target.

The storm above rages as with no difficulty he enters the house, from the photos in the hall it is evident that this is the home of an all American family: mother, father, son, daughter, even the golden coated Labrador, physically they were perfect, but there is no such thing as perfection.

The final light in the house is extinguished as father retires to his room for the night, he does not realise the blacken figure disguised in the shadows entering his home, Bernie the dog is first to meet his end. Blood covers the hall rug, his eyes gaze upwards, the silence continues. He begins his ascent taking each step at a time, he stealthily kills each child, neither makes a sound, he has had much practice. Finally the parents are his last target, just as brutally as the rest of the family they are executed, their crime? Nobody but him is aware of.

Leaving behind the bloody massacre he brushes himself down and disappears into the night.

* * *

The sun glistened on the black body of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala parked carefully in front of the common fifties diner. Unbeknownst to the innocent to glanced at the car on entry to enjoy the simplistic fast food the establishment had to offer, this car had just assisted in destroying the haunted spirit of Kathleen Ambrose who was killing men in a corporate building as it was that job and similar career-driven, arrogant, pompous businessmen which had caused her suicide, and she wanted revenge. Not only had the car saved the lives of potentially hundreds of businessmen in that building but it was slowly repairing a damaged relationship and broken trust between two brothers. There are some things that take time to heal and forgive and drinking demon blood to use psychic powers thereby releasing the devil from hell was one of them, but this was not the time for personal domestic feuds, the apocalypse was coming and there were monsters to be fought.

"Dean? DEAN!"

In one swift move, Sam moved the near empty beer bottle and pie Dean was devouring from his reach, sending the former crashing to the ground.

"Hey - hey!" Dean reached for the plate, eyes filled with pie-based lust, "Didn't you hear the waitress?! Best pie in Utah. You could at least show a little respect."

"Have you even been listening?!" Sam couldn't keep the frustration out of his voice. It had been a long day - a long week, a long year -, and having to contend with the constant demands of Dean's stomach on top of all things sinister that Hell, Heaven and Earth could offer was sometimes too much to bear.

"Sure, sure. Night what now?"

"Night slasher." Dean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, it's about as pleasant as it sounds. Whole families cut open in the night, pets and all. Hearts and livers cut out. Nobody heard or saw anything - no fingerprints, no leads, nothing, except for the fact that there was a killing spree more or less exactly the same in the same general area back in..."  
"Bobby!" Dean burst in, unable to contain his enthusiasm. "Night slasher. I _knew_ I'd heard that name somewhere before."

Sam nodded, relieved to finally be getting somewhere. "...1988. Bobby worked with some of the FBI way back then. It was one of his first jobs."

"Demon?"

"Demon."

"Hold on a minute." Dean broke off a slice of pie and shoved it in his mouth, ignoring the narrowing of Sam's eyes. "Mmmmm. Never disappoints. But Bobby's first case - that was in LA, right? Like, hot girls, beaches, movie stars...that LA? Don't roll your eyes at me, Sam, it's a legitimate question!"

"Yes, Dean." Sam checked his watch, checked his phone and signalled to the waitress. "That LA. Now hurry up and finish off that pie."

* * *

There was a feeling of lifelessness throughout the floor of the Behaviour Analysis Unit, the team had just returned from a particularly brutal case which they had allowed to affect them more than usual, not only was the case violent but it had also had them working continuously for almost two weeks. Each member of the team sat quietly at their own desk or office content with trudging through endless amounts of paperwork rather than being out on a case. J.J. looked out at the bullpen over her files of case files from her office; as always Reid had his head firmly lost in the book he was reading but surprisingly Morgan and Prentiss were also buried in their work, neither had a smile on their face. She sighed as she picked up her latest case file and began heading out of her office, she did not want to be the one to tell the team they were having to face more atrocities on another case but she knew she had to, that was her job.

The three agents raised their heads as they saw J.J. walk towards Hotch's office, "well that was fun while it lasted" Emily stated blandly before saving her work and logging off her computer.

Morgan grunted in agreement, this case had to be pretty bad to have them go back out after the two weeks of hell they had just endured.

Once the team had congregated at the roundtable J.J. stood at the screen and gave a small sigh as she looked back at her colleagues disheartened faces, "I'm sorry but LAPD have called us in urgently as they believe the Night Slasher is back"

Reid frowned and turned to his left, "Night Slasher? Rossi didn't you originally work that case?"

Rossi, despite his dark Italian skin, had gone pale and looked clearly shaken by the news but tried to mask his alarm and he scratched his beard and nodded, "yeah but believe me we did not glorify him with that name. There were ten home invasions over a period of three years from 1988 to 1991 always the perfect family set up, always at night and they were always slaughtered"

J.J. nodded and pressed the button on the remote causing three family portraits to appear on the screen, "in the past four weeks three families have been killed in the same way as the victims of the Night Slasher, that's why LAPD are so concerned"

"Of course, he appears to be escalating" Morgan added nodding at the team.

Hotch stood up and looking around at his team, they were tired and weary but it was their job to save people's lives and that is what they were going to do, "Garcia, we'll need all the information on the original case file, we must put an end to this before he disappears once more. Wheels up in thirty"

As the team disbanded to collect their go bags and their notes for the flight across the country Rossi stayed behind at the roundtable. Hotch looked back from the doorway and frowned at his friend who had his head in his hands, "are you alright about this case?" he asked concernedly.

Rossi looked up startled, "yeah Aaron I'll be fine just give me a minute ok?" Hotch nodded and joined the rest of the team in preparing for their work call. Rossi waiting until the door had closed ensuring complete isolation before pulling out his phone and scrolling down the contacts to a number he hadn't needed to call for over twenty years.

He swallowed nervously as he pressed call, as the dial tone rang in his ears his heart beating loudly against his rib cage. This case had scared him twenty years ago and knowing that it was becoming active again terrified him.

"Hello" the gruff voice grunted down the receiver.

"Bobby Singer? It's David Rossi, I'm going to need your help. It's back"


	2. Chapter 2

**Reflection or Perception?  
Chapter 2**

Reminder this story is co-written by the wonderfully talented sexdrugsandoreos who writes the majority of the Supernatural part of the story.

* * *

After 11 hours and countless cups of coffee, Agents Jones and Wilson were ringing the doorbell of a Barbara Whittaker - mother of Alison Pointer one of the most recently deceased - Agent Jones was constantly muttering under his breath about how he didn't see why they had to visit an old lady when their adult daughter was still alive too and she was less likely to be senile and more likely to be hot, and what kind of an FBI agent comes to LA and goes straight on the case without taking a beach break, _really_?!

"Shut UP, Dean."

"That's Jones to you. _Agent_ Jones. Unprofessional." Dean shook his head in mock disapproval. "Honestly. They'll let anyone in the FBI these -"

At that moment, the door swung slowly open to reveal a scrawny and decidedly haggard woman, white fingers clutching determinedly at a battered stick that looked almost as likely to collapse as her spindly legs.

A cat ran out the open door, pitch black and skinny with bones jutting out at odd angles. The woman's brow furrowed as she looked them up and down, paper thin wrinkled lips creasing into a frown. Dean groaned inwardly.

"What do you want?"

All things considered, Barbara Whittaker was probably quite justified in being grumpy - but she was the kind of woman it was hard to imagine ever being cheerful, even with family alive and well (and organs fully intact).

"Do you want tea?" she asked brusquely, the question posed more like a challenge than an offer, "No coffee or juice or anything else, and the kettle's broken, so it'd be a real hassle to make. You're probably best off with tap water."

Jones looked from her to the ever-growing group of cats congregating at her feet, breathing in the musty old-people smell of the room and vowing to always, _always_ be chief decision maker re: future interviewees (Wilson would have found it hard to argue at this point).

"Water's fine," said Sam, at the exact same moment as Dean said, "Nothing for me, then." Barbara looked at them warily, and Sam quickly added a "thanks", nudging Dean until he did the same.

Barbara disappeared for several minutes and the boys were left to take in their surroundings – surroundings which, in retrospect, were probably best unabsorbed.

The house was clearly old - not attractively archaic but as decrepit as Barbara herself. Old-fashioned flowered wallpaper coated the walls unattractively and inefficiently, peeling off in long strips to reveal huge patches of damp. The sofa on which they had reluctantly planted themselves (after hovering awkwardly by the doorway for several minutes, eventually prompting an impatient "sit down, then" from their equally reluctant host) had probably been quite nice white cotton one day but was now stained almost beyond recognition, any cohesive colour lost in a cocktail of tea, sauce and what looked suspiciously like...

"Is that CAT PEE?" Dean sniffed suspiciously and then shuddered, practically leaping to the other side of the sofa.

Sam stifled a laugh. "Who's unprofessional now?"

The cats, seemingly infinite in numbers and regularly springing from every nook and cranny of the house, had also left their mark on the rest of the furniture, scratching the old woman's arm chair almost out of existence.

'Bitch probably deserved it,' Dean almost said, but stopped himself, painfully aware that Barbara was a) only in the next room and b) probably not averse to setting her whole cat army on them, should the situation demand it.

Dirty bowls on various surfaces through the house did nothing to conceal the fact their unkempt nature, skin and bones and all coated in fleas, scratching incessantly at their fur. Sam felt a prickling down his arms and legs just watching them.

Dean was shaking his head. He had been shaking his head for quite a while now, Sam ignoring this clear expression of disapproval in the apparently futile hope that it would go away.

"What?!' he snapped finally, "You got a nervous tic or something?"

Dean continued to shake his head and tutted. "This is just classic _you_, you know that?"

Sam gave a short, dismissive laugh.

"I'm serious!"

"Care to elaborate on that?"

"You always have to ruin my fun! We could be interviewing some hot girl, probably living on a beach, and instead you've got us lumbered with old crazy here, just because..."

"Mrs Whittaker!" Sam burst in hastily, as she made her way into the room with a face like thunder and slammed a large glass of water down on the dust-covered table. "That's great. Thanks."

It took a long time for her to get herself settled, pulling cushions literally from underneath the boys to prop herself up on the chair. When it was finally padded to her satisfaction, she leaned forward in her seat almost conspiratorially, and, before either of them could get a word in -

"So. Agents. Any news on the nappers?"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. "I'm sorry, ma'am?"

"The cat-nappers, of course," Barbara bristled again at the confusion, "Patch, Squeak, Whisker and Herbert, all gone in under a month." She frowned at their blank faces. "Well? That is why you're here, isn't it?"

...

"Well, _that_ was a waste of time," Dean stated the obvious as they made their way back towards the impala, laughing mostly to keep from crying. "Precious potential beach time, actually."

Above and beyond the run of the mill crazy cat lady they'd initially taken her for, Mrs Whittaker had turned out to be completely and utterly barking mad, too obsessed with the unexplained disappearances of her feline friends to feel anything greater than mild irritation at the gruesome murders of her supposed nearest and dearest. She was convinced the cats, who had presumably fled of their own accord, were being stolen - by a "man in a strange green coat" she'd "seen lurking around sometimes". When Sam had asked if she thought this man could have played a part in the deaths of her relatives, she had grown impatient once again.

"I don't really think that's relevant, do you? Don't change the subject!"

A lengthy and tedious investigation revealed that the Whittakers' youngest daughter was now quite a long way out of town, having emigrated to Australia two years earlier.  
"So we COULDN'T have interviewed her instead!" Sam declared, clearly smug.

"Whatever. All I said was that she probably lived on a beach – I never specified the continent!"

With no other immediate relatives, the next port of call was the medical examiner, right at the other end of town.

"Hello, sir." The door was whipped open before Sam's finger could even reach the buzzer, a beady-eyed and bespectacled man looking alarmingly cheerful for someone whose time was spent foraging inside the deceased. "I'm Agent Jones of the FBI, and this here is Agent Wilson. We're here to ask you a few questions about the Whittaker case."

"The Night Slasher!" the man - Dom, according to his name-badge - exclaimed happily, as if it was a type of dessert. "An interesting one. Do come inside."

* * *

The sky was a bright blue and clouds had long since vanished along the western coast of the city of angels, the sweltering heat hit the BAU team the second they stepped out of the familiar black SUVs towards the Los Angeles Police Department headquarters. As always with a large city cases are more frequent than more rural thereby making their trips across the country just as common.

Reid looked around the grey, urban landscape before following his team. It was difficult for his mind not to relive the memories of his encounter with Lila Archer several years prior, that one kiss in the swimming pool had led to a couple of brief phone conversations but her incredibly busy celebrity schedule did not factor in contact with the socially awkward genius in the FBI. He sighed and pushed the glass doors allowed the artificially cooled air to hit him straight on immediately sending shivers through his body. As he joined his team at the back of the group Hotch was already in the middle of his introductions, though Rossi appeared to be taking the lead with his prior experience and knowledge of the case. It had not taken Reid very long to read thoroughly all the original case note on the jet as the rest of the team batted ideas about the unsub and his motive for restarting the killings after all these years. However there was always like possibility that it was a copycat and therefore their job became increasingly harder as they would have to create an entirely new profile as well as compare it to that of Rossi's original one in 1988.

As they had done so many times before the team sat around the table in the conference room gathering their bearings and placing key information of the large evidence board. Hotch knew the sooner they could solve this case the sooner they could return home so he did not waste time in distributing orders to his team.

"We need to create a profile of our present killer in comparison to our 1988 killer so Reid and Morgan I would like you to visit the M.E. and find out what you can about the M.O., Prentiss you and I will interview the victim's families starting with…" he shuffled the papers in front of him to find the name of his first interviewee, "Barbara Whittaker mother of Alison Pointer the mother in the most recent murdered family, J.J. we will need to set up a press conference to alert families to take necessary precautions and keep the media under wraps and Dave you are most familiar with this case so you can begin seeing if anything has changed since the first set of murders"

The team took their orders and disappeared in their separate directions all with the same goal of finding this murderer and finally allowing him to pay for what he had done.

Throughout the car journey to question to the medical examiner about the latest victims Reid was forced to endure Morgan's grumbling: first it was the case, then it was the heat, the car didn't drive smoothly, there was too much traffic on the road, his complaints were endless. He was thankful when the car soon slowed to a stop and they could leave the enclosed space of the inside of the SUV. Inside the corridors were ice cold which juxtaposed the sweat that was dripping from both of the young men's faces as they entered the facility. After swiftly showing their badges at the reception desk they were directed towards the morgue, it was a process that they had completed many times but still the thought of every member of that family who each had a future complete with ambitions and dreams which had been taken away from they was now lying still, just a body in a drawer was almost overwhelming, but that was the job.

Morgan felt his phone vibrate in his pocket as they entered the elevator which would take them to their required floor, "yeah Prentiss? We're just heading to the morgue now"

"_Morgan we may have a problem, me and Hotch just visited __Barbara Whittaker's house and she said she's already been visited by two FBI agents who were looking into the disappearances of her cats, now she might just be senile but keep an eye out just in case_" Emily's voice called down the phone.

The elevator doors slid open as they had reached the morgue, "thanks Prentiss" Morgan replied with a slight frown before ending the call.

"What was that about?" Reid asked walking beside him down another glistening white corridor.

He opened his mouth to answer when a man in a lab coat and a clipboard began walking exited a room on the left ahead of the two agents, Morgan nodded at him politely and held up his badge, "excuse me we are looking for the morgue-" he began before the doctor raised his hand to silence him.

"How many of you guys do they need to send to examine the bodies and hear the coroner's report?" he sighed irritably, "I've just explained everything to the other two agents"

Morgan frowned at Reid who looked equally as shocked, "other two agents?" he asked slowly.

The doctor mirrored their frowns, "well yes, Agent Jones and Agent Wilson, they're in the morgue right now examining the body. Follow me" with that he turned on his heel and pushed open the door he had just exited from with Morgan and Reid following close behind hoping to get some answers.

As they entered they saw two men bent over the unpleasant sight of the body of Mrs Alison Pointer speaking in hushed voices but looked up startled that they had been interrupted. The shorter of the two simply smiled and relaxed quickly, "forget something Doc?" he asked calmly looking between him, Morgan and Reid.

"Can I see your identification again please?" the Doctor asked wearily unsure which pair of FBI agents to believe.

The cockier 'agent' looked up at his partner who gave him a small shrug before they both reached into the inside of their jacket pockets and pulled out their badges. Reid pushed forward and took both badges and scanned them thoroughly before looking back at Morgan, his brow furrowed with worry, "Morgan these badges are fakes, these men aren't agents"

Annoyance and anger seared through Derek Morgan as he looked at the two men's faces which read one expression he was very familiar one which simply read, 'oh crap'. He did not take kindly to men posing as federal agents, a status that he and every other person in the bureau had worked long and hard to earn. Without hesitation he unhooked his handcuffs from the back loop of his jeans and placed them around the taller man's hands before taking pleasure out of doing the same to the cockier man, neither him nor Reid knew why these men wanted information about this case but they were going to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 3**

Co-written by the brilliant sexdrugsandoreos

* * *

The shrill screeching of sirens filled the crowded highway, sunlight streaming through the open windows of people sat in traffic jams, nails tapping impatiently on dashboards as the Winchesters and their (most recent) captors sped past in a flurry of flashing lights.

"Hey," Sam nudged Dean, who turned to face him, hand shielding his eyes from the solar glare. "How are we gonna get out of this one, then?" he half-whispered, half-mouthed. The driving agent's shoulders stiffened and his grip on the wheel tightened, but he didn't speak. Dean just shrugged and turned away again, staring intently out of the window at the local scenery – and, er, talent – outside. To all intents and purposes, they were getting a fairly comprehensive – if hurried – tour of LA here; so what if their ultimate destination was the police station?

Helpless as their situation seemed in that moment, Dean didn't feel hopeless – not, at least, to any greater extent that he felt hopeless on any given recent day.

Sam, too, looked more weary than alarmed. The agent in the passenger seat – weedy, geeky-looking, the kind of guy Dean would have hated and Sam probably would have been best friends with in high school – clocked this and frowned in response, turning to the driver as if to speak but then seeming to think better of it. Their nonchalance clearly unnerved him, a fact in which Dean took arguably more joy than he really should have.

For most people, hurtling towards interrogation and probable accusation in a vehicle manned by federal agents would be an exhilarating, traumatic and potentially life-changing event. In its most inconsequential guise it would at least be a high/lowlight of the year – a story to tell, a 'remember when' that could induce a still almost disbelieving shudder for years to come. For Sam and Dean Winchester, it was a typical Tuesday afternoon – and quite a lazy one at that, free as it had thus far been from direct experience of death, demons and deals with the devil. (In the case of at least the former two, experience dictated this was likely to change soon; still, it was nice while it lasted.) At this point, run-ins with the authority were nothing new – the only surprising thing about them was that they didn't happen more often – and, quite frankly, the least of their worries.

After another long and tedious drive through the city traffic the agents found themselves back at the police headquarters

"You're wasting your time, you know," Dean protested as he and his brother were half led, half dragged out of the car and towards the station. More in the spirit of cheerful arrogance than in any real hope of being listened to, he added, "We're the good guys here. You should be thanking us."

The geeky guy frowned, clearly trying to figure them out. The other – dark-skinned, muscular, stony-faced (the Brawn to Geek Guy's Brains, Dean supposed, struggling not to laugh at the thought of the latter attempting to defend himself) – just looked pissed.

"I'm serious. Deadly serious." Dean added – because he was, apparently, a glutton for punishment, and the combined effect of Brawn's unrestrained revulsion and Sam's warning glare just made it impossible to resist. "Oh, lighten up, would you?"

* * *

Morgan ignored the insufferable protests of innocence by his suspects and continued to haul the two men towards the holding cells, he had heard of unsubs wanting to insert themselves into the investigation but never had he seen anyone try to pass themselves off as FBI agents before. He had just endured watching the men sit in the back seat of their SUV relatively unphased by the ordeal just sharing knowing glances between them and therefore he was not in the mood to be playing 'nice cop'.

Rossi looked up from his paperwork in the conference room and raised his eyebrows at the scene unfolding, he thought it too soon to have caught anyone, especially knowing what he did about the case.

Catching Reid's eye as he passed he beckoned him into the room, "who're those two?" he asked as his colleague stood in the doorway.

"They were impersonating FBI agents, first they spoke to the relative Hotch and Emily went to interview and then we found them getting information from the M.E." Reid glanced back over his shoulder, "Morgan is eager to find out what they're doing, I think we're going to interview them once he's rang Hotch" he added.

Rossi nodded absentmindedly, his mind was drifting back to a situation very reminiscent of this one which occurred in that very building over twenty years ago.

_David Rossi turned the handle of the door to the interview room slowly before entering, his intention was to unnerve this man, but little did he know of the unimaginable horrors that he had encountered recently and so there was nothing he could do to achieve that. He pushed his jet black hair out of his face and walked into the centre of the room looking the man straight in the eye. 'Floyd Armstrong' was the alias that had been written on his fake FBI badge but after background checks, it was clear there was no such man, it was also clear that he was no more an FBI agent than he was a ballerina for the Royal National Ballet. Rossi raised his eyebrows as he looked the man up and down, he couldn't be much older than himself, forty at the most, his light brown hair that was beginning to grey at the roots was slicked back, his beard was trimmed and his cheap suit would be convincing to the unassuming but there was a darkness behind his eyes, he just hasn't learnt what it was yet. _

"Rossi? Are you ok?" Reid asked frowning down at him as the older agent was jolted back into the present day. It could be sheer coincidence that these men were impersonating FBI agents just as his first suspect had done during the original case but his gut was telling him otherwise, he knew what they truly were.

He looked up at the young genius who gave him a small smile, "I'm fine, you go see Morgan" he said giving him a nod of encouragement. Reid simply looked at him, he knew that something wasn't right with his teammate, there was more to this case than he was letting on but he had come to learn that Rossi could be a private man and would not share his problems unless it was necessary.

As he watched Reid leave Rossi sighed and placed his head in his hands, this day was going from bad to worse. What was taking Bobby so long? He didn't know how much longer he could carry this burden of information alone for and he was the only one who could provide him with answers. There was also the problem of the mysterious suspects that needed to be resolved, if they had any connection to him he needed to clarify their purpose soon before Morgan unleashed his fury onto them, but if he had learnt anything from the first case it was that they would not break.

After Morgan closed the cell door firmly, he turned to left so to give them time to stew. He glanced back and saw them talking in hushed voices, he was unsure what their purpose was, they were far too young to be the Night Slasher so why were they investigating? He had one job and that was to find out the truth and bring justice to all those people who had lost friends and family at the hand of that cold-blooded murderer, and he fully intended to do so.

* * *

"Frickin' feds!"

Sam sat huddled in the corner, head against the wall, as Dean paced restlessly across the cell. What had initially served more as a well needed (if somewhat inconvenient) respite than anything else had quickly grown sour, and, after almost an hour cramped inside a sweltering cell, even Sam – as the decidedly more patient brother – had had enough, Dean himself repeatedly cursing the FBI and seriously considering becoming an actual criminal just to spite them.

Sam sighed, "will you sit down and shut up a second, I have a plan for when they interview us" he lowered his voice to barely a whisper conscious that anyone could be listening to their conversation, "we say we are journalists trying to get information on the latest attacks but we obviously went too far. I texted Bobby the plan and our location, he'll bail us out" he looked at his brother who was still seething from being caught and locked up. "We've killed a lot of people, Dean," Sam pointed out, reasonably enough. Dean wanted to throttle him. "And imitated a lot of...well, fraud is a crime. I'm not saying they're right," he added hastily, clocking the ironically murderous look on Dean's face. "Greater good and all that. I get it. I'm just saying we don't exactly work within the law, plus we had a narrow escape with all that Hendrickson business, how are we supposed to get out of that one? We're supposed to be dead! As soon as they find out who we are we'll be back on the FBI's radar, probably even more so since we got the blame for Lilith's mess in Colorado."

Dean gritted his teeth and exhaled a frustrated growl, "we'll sort it Sammy, we always do, and so what? We work outside the law to save their blind asses, and everyone else's!" he raised his hands in despair. "What are they doing wasting their time on something as petty as this anyway? People are dying out there!"

"Yes, they are," a calm cold voice interjected, making them both jump. The brawny officer from before was stood outside, watching them with obvious distaste and something strangely menacing in his eyes. Dean prayed no one heard him gulp. "Agent Derek Morgan. Don't worry about introducing yourselves right now – we've got all the time in the world to figure out just who you are and just why we're wasting our time on you, but it'd probably be easiest for all of us if you speak up soon."

"How long have you been standing there?!" Sam blurted out, clearly agitated.

Agent Morgan eyed him coolly.

"Does it really matter? Like your friend said, people are dying here." He reached into his pocket, drawing out a small, silver key and slotting it into the lock. "And you're going to help us figure out why."


	4. Chapter 4

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 4**

Co-written by sexdrugsnoreos. Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favourites we really appreciate it. We apologise that the chapters aren't being uploaded as frequent as we would like but we are both starting University this week and next so our lives will be hectic but we will upload as soon as we can.

* * *

With their hands still firmly bound by silver handcuffs Morgan led the two suspects to the interview rooms. Thankfully with LA being a large city their police department had the luxury of surplus resources, in this case it meant multiple interview rooms. As the rest of the team had not returned it was up to Reid to conduct the second interview, Morgan could not wait to grill the cocky one and therefore left the quieter yet larger one to him to understand his motives further.

As they separated Rossi watched the interviews begin, if they were in anyway related to the case, he knew whatever they told his teammates would be a complete pack of lies but he couldn't tell them. Who would believe him? He wished Bobby would hurry up.

The suspect swayed on the back legs of his seat and smirked as Morgan slammed the case file down in front of him, "so 'Agent Wilson' care to introduce yourself?"

There was no response just a simple smug smile which caused Morgan's blood to boil, "we ran your fingerprints through VICAP and you're squeaky clean so tell me, why you and your friend here were gathering classified information and impersonating federal agents?"

He smiled and leant forward placing his elbows on the desk, "we, Agent Morgan are journalists, our supervisor wanted us to cover the murders but no one would give us any information so we had to bend a few rules in order to complete our article" he said in a rehearsed voice, "we are very sorry to have inconvenienced you" he added in the least apologetic voice Morgan had ever heard.

Morgan paced behind his chair as a snarl escaped from his lips. He had profiled many psychopaths in his time but this guy just didn't fit the bill. He knew there was outside the box but then there was in a completely different box all together, breaking this smarmy son of a bitch would not be easy. He just hoped to God that Reid was having more luck with the other one.

* * *

All things considered, Sam was pleased to have been assigned the geek guy. He had been when Morgan first informed them of their interviewers - not even trying to hide his smug grin while Dean outright GROANED - and, judging from the heated voices coming from the next room (Dean was being cocky - of course he was, Sam thought, stopping himself mid eye-roll as a cock of Reid's head reminded him that his every action was under scrutiny. Did he actually know how to be anything else?!), he had been right not to want Morgan on his case. Still, Reid's mind games were beginning to freak him out.

"It's not mind games, it's simple behavioural analysis actually. Interesting that you should refer to it like that, and especially that you're clearly intimidated by what is really a very basic process of character determination. Suggests you've got something to hide - or, at very least, that you're not comfortable with yourself."

Sam laughed. "Right, so because you're...INTIMIDATING me..." The idea of this guy seriously intimidating anyone was laughable, but Sam decided to go with it. "Because you're intimidating me, that means I'm guilty? Or that I'm having some kind of identity crisis or something?"

Reid just shrugged, a slightly self satisfied smirk on his face. Sam thought for the first time that he could really grow to dislike him. "You're the FBI. Isn't intimidating people kind of your job?"

"That's a gross over-simplification. Shouldn't you know all about that, Agent..."

"Jones," Sam supplied automatically, then bit his lip. "I told you, we're journalists. We didn't have any leads, and relatives and officials don't tend to co-operate with the press so we just...used our initiative. We're really sorry," He added, for good measure, though he figured he should probably have lead with that. "We've not been on the paper long and we're just...over-eager, I guess. It won't happen again. Our superior's on his way over right now to smooth things -"

"Do you know the most common signs of lying, Mr 'Jones'?"

Sam's face remained calm and still, but shook his head.

"You should. You just exhibited almost all of them - admittedly, the traits and the ways in which they manifested were far too subtle to be identified by the untrained eye, suggesting though the subject may not be a natural born liar that he's had a lot of experience in this field."

"The subject? You mean..."

"You," Reid leaned forward in his seat and Sam struggled not to flinch, to remind himself that this was just some dumb (if, uh, absurdly intelligent) kid with nothing of value on them and Bobby would be there to save their asses any second now. "Look, we're in the middle of a very important case here. Lots of people have died - if we don't get to the bottom of this, so will lots more."

"I'm aware."

"We don't have many leads at the moment - the only leads we've got are pointing to, well, you." Sam stared at him. Surely that wasn't true? Impersonating an FBI officer may be a crime, but it was a far cry from massacring families. They couldn't have enough evidence to convict them - unless they'd been set up, of course.

Sam watched Reid intensely, but still couldn't work out if he was bluffing or not. It didn't matter THAT much, of course - not like they'd never had to work their way out of a prison sentence before -, but it'd be an inconvenience for sure, especially when they should be focusing all their attention on finding and destroying what was really out there. This guy might be good with facts and figures and mind games, but he didn't stand a chance against a demon. Not even the brawny one did.

* * *

Once the rest of the team had arrived back to the police station Rossi filled them in with the latest developments regarding their newest suspects. Hotch stood behind the soundproof glass as he watched two very different interviews take place. Reid was a lot more intuitive and logical with his approach whereas Morgan grilled hard and looked as if it was taking all his will not to throttle that man.

Suddenly, a man in a beige trench coat appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, beside Hotch.

"Is that Sam and Dean Winchester you are interrogated in there?" he asked in a serious tone similar to the one Hotch usually adopted.

The Unit Chief whom nothing seemed to frighten turned startled at this man's appearance, "we are not sure of their identities as yet, who are you?"

The man's face was unchanging, "I must give them a message, I fear this is the work of angels, not demons"

Hotch frowned and looked back towards the glass, "I'm sure there were no angels involved with this case" he stated solemnly thinking back to the pictures of the butchered children. He looked back to the mysterious man to see he had disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived, he looked around the station but there was no sign of him.

Still confused by the bizarre conversation he had just experienced he pulled out his phone.

_"Office of intellect and beauty, how can I help you save the day today?"_ the voice of Penelope Garcia sang down the phone at him.

"Garcia I need you to do a background check on Sam and Dean Winchester"

_"Right away my liege"_ she chirped before the sounds of frantic typing could be heard as an indication that she was doing what she did best, searching every database to find out as much as she could, _"wow, well this is creepier than a man in a multicoloured coat luring children with lollipops in Vulgaria"_

Hotch simply ignored her comparison to the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, "what is it?"

_"Their life story mirrors this book series that I read, they're in some ways similar to the graphic novels I like though not very popular but it's really well written and they're having their first convention for it next week just outside Cleveland but I obviously can't go because of work and-"_

"Garcia" Hotch said to cease her rambling and remind her to get to the point.

_"Yes, sorry sir. Sam and Dean Winchester lived in Laurence, Kanas before their mother died in 1983 when they moved around a lot with their Dad enrolling in many different schools across the country. Sam then went to Stanford University to study law but dropped out and since then there's not been much record of either of them, no credit cards in their name, no house, no employment, no paper trail to speak of and you can't sit on a park bench in this country without leaving a paper trail..."_

"Unless they've been using false alias'" Hotch thought aloud.

_"Of course, now the book series is called Supernatural and it's about two brothers called Sam and Dean who's life story almost matches theirs exactly except they travel around the country hunting demons and ghosts and all creepy supernatural Halloween type things. Perhaps the author knows them and thought they were interesting enough to write about or maybe it's just a weird coincidence"_

"Maybe..." he said wistfully, "send me their information, thanks Garcia" he hung up the phone as Morgan paused the interview and came outside to join him, "what is he saying?" he asked.

Morgan scoffed, "a load of bull that's what!"

"We may have identified them" he explained opening the file Garcia had just sent to him on his phone and showed him the pictures.

He nodded, "yeah that's them, who are they?"

"Brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester" he answered putting his phone away.

Morgan leant against the wall, "he says they're journalists"

"Garcia couldn't find any employment records"

Their attention was then turned to a man in a wheelchair heading towards them. He wore a brown flannel shirt, a dark green gilet, old tattered jeans and a green worn trucker cap. He stopped directly in front of them and stuck his hand out, "Robert Singer, Bobby, editor of the Sioux Falls Evening Star, I hear you have two of my employees, I'm sorry if they have been causing trouble, they seem to think they can access information for an article by any means necessary"

Morgan looked at him through sceptical eyes as he shook his hand while Hotch remained neutral, "Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief for the Behaviour Analysis Unit for the FBI, we're assisting on the Night Slasher case"

"Do you know Mr David Rossi? He was particularly helpful in providing me with the accurate facts for my article the first time the Slasher was active"

At that moment Rossi's head poked out of the conference room he'd been working in, he had been waiting to hear that familiar gruff voice all day and he couldn't help but smile when he saw him, "Bobby!" he exclaimed coming out and shaking his hands.

He nodded, "good to see you again Dave, I was just telling your colleagues here how you helped me with my article during the Slasher's first series of attacks" he turned to him and raised his eyebrows slightly encouraging him to continue the lie.

Rossi smiled, "yes of course, what are you doing here now?"

"Sadly, two of my employees have got themselves into a bit of trouble over gathering some information, would it be possible to bail them out? They may be stupid but they didn't mean no harm"

Morgan continued to give this man daggers and silently widened his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly so to warn Hotch not to agree, but it was ignored, "we have no formal evidence to tie them to the case so they can be released"

Bobby smiled, "thanks, to repay the favour they have done a lot of research into the case they could be of use to you"

"I don't think-" Morgan began.

"-that'd be great, this case will need all the help we can get" Rossi interjected shooting Hotch a quick sideways glance.

Bobby nodded, "thanks I really appreciate it" and he wheeled himself towards the interview rooms to collect them.

"Rossi are you mad!? You can't trust these men, I've interviewed that arrogant one and there is definitely something he is hiding!" Morgan exclaimed.

"We're all hiding something aren't we Morgan?" he replied raising his eyebrows, "now Bobby was a huge support the first time the Slasher was active and I trust him to do the same this time" he turned to Hotch, "just give them a chance Aaron, if they're a liability then they can go"

Hotch thought about it for a moment, he wasn't at liberty to let any person off the street consult with investigations, especially not the press but his oldest friend trusted them so he would give him the benefit of the doubt this once. He couldn't risk anymore deaths and the extra help could prevent another attack so despite Morgan's protests he nodded allowing the strangers to consult.

* * *

As Sam and Dean were released they grinned as they saw their closest friend and father figure wheeling himself towards him.

"Bobby are we glad to see you, how did you get here so fast?" Sam asked.

He raised his eyebrows, "I had to get here to save your asses, again, didn't I ya idjits?"

"But they didn't know who we were" Dean frowned, "we were supposed to be dead but apparently nothing showed up when our prints were checked"

"Well ain't you glad I got friends in high places who owed me a favour and were able to alter your records"

"Bobby?" Sam grinned, oblivious to the discerning stare Morgan was still aiming their way. Dean, far from oblivious, responded with a smile and a cheery wave, watching in satisfaction as the agent's knuckles clenched. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"Steady on there, Brokeback Mountain," Bobby retorted.

In the background, Dean took a short break from smiling innocently and sniggered Sam muttered "jerk" under his breath. Bobby looked up and caught Rossi's eye again, their gaze full to bursting with words that neither dared to say. Then he turned back to Sam and Dean.

"Come on, boys, you can save the grovelling for later. We've got work to do."


	5. Chapter 5

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 5**

As I explained previously, we are in the transition period of moving into university so we have very little time so we apologise greatly, but we have two chapters to upload today one written by me and one written by sexdrugsnoreos so we hope you enjoy them, thank you for all the positive feedback it is much appreciated.

* * *

Evening was creeping in on the first day of the investigation as the team congregated in the conference to review what they had learnt. Stood in the corner, listening attentively and making the occasional notes were Sam and Bobby. Dean on the other hand leant lazily against the wall, anxious to get out and do the physical work he's good at instead of sitting around contemplating theories that were clearly wrong.

Hotch looked to their consulting help as he began to look to the next step in the investigation, "Dave as you're already aquatinted with Mr Singer, you can continue working on the original case, Reid I'd like you work on a geographic profile with Sam and Morgan you can gain the information Dean got from the M.E. Prentiss you and I will continue the interviews of extended family members while J.J. I'll need you to set up a hotline that the public can use, there was a reason this unsub hasn't killed for twenty years and he will want recognition for his crimes just as he did before"

* * *

Reid sat quietly and watched his 'partner' study the case notes in front of him, he could not work this man out and he had come to the conclusion after several years in the job that he was a pretty decent profiler. He did not know what he hoped to gain from working on the case and he was not convinced that they were journalists at all but he was not one for confrontation, he had been given his orders by both Hotch and Rossi and that was to work with this man, so he would do so.

"So" Sam began closing the case file over and giving Reid a small smile from across the desk, this man was no threat and as much as he hated to admit it he was a lot like him, or what he was like before he had had demon blood coursing through his veins, and it would probably be a lot easier working with him than with Dean despite the lack of supernatural knowledge on his part. "Do you think we could head to the local library to do further research?"

Reid frowned slightly, "why would we need to go to the library? We have all the information we need here. What we need to do is create a geographic profile, that is a perimeter which narrows down where the unsub usually kills, that's his comfort zone and depending on what type of killer we have profiled him as we can generate an estimation of where we think he may live or work" he began to ramble pointing to the map behind him where he had already marked out a rough marked area, "as the unsub kills families it is likely he has some kind of bitterness towards the perfect family life therefore he would likely come from a broken home or had an experience during his childhood which would lead to this hatred as this is a rage he has harboured for many years. He would not live in the suburban areas he targets more likely he would live in inner city with a blue collar job and he would definitely live alone, this is a lifestyle he once strived for, now he despises the thought of it"

Sam nodded and tried to take it all in, he had to say he was impressed by the idea of profiling and if it was a serial killer they were hunting for then he was sure that they would have defined him perfectly, but it wasn't. It was a coldblooded demon who had no reason to kill it just killed because it could, yes it was odd that it was following the same MO but there was no law that said demons cannot keep to their own sadistic pattern.

Reid continued to explain that they were looking for a man in his mid to late forties due to his age in the original profile and that he had most probably stopped due to being arrested for another crime and he has just been released, he said their tech girl was researching all the people who had been released from local prisons within the weeks leading up to the first murders. Little did they know that Bobby, with the help of SSA David Rossi, had exorcised the demon which ceased the murders but due to the small problem of Lucifer being released into the earth and the apocalypse on the horizon it is not surprising that some demons returned from the pit.

Sam smiled and knew he had to play along with his perception of the case in order to gain as much information as he could because someone had to, there was little doubt in his mind that Dean would be too focussed trying to wind up his new FBI 'friend' rather than actually contribute to the job.

* * *

"So have you visited the crime scene?" Dean asked as casually as he could.

Morgan narrowed his eyes, "yes, Prentiss and Hotch were there this morning"

"Did they find anything unusual there?"

"Like what?" he replied shortly.

Dean shrugged passively, "I don't know, cold spots? Sulphur maybe?"

"Sulphur? They weren't chemists! They were an ordinary family"

"Yeah, sure," Dean nodded along absentmindedly. "What about...bags?"

"I'm sure the family owned bags, yes," Morgan said briskly, eyeing Dean with renewed annoyance and confusion. He silently reminded himself to stay calm. Rossi was usually a good judge of character, and it was clear Rossi trusted these men; what he still couldn't figure out was why.

"Yeah, yeah, wise guy, I'm sure they did. I mean a specific kind of bag..." Dean gestured wildly with his hands, casting his mind back. "About this big, brown, with something maybe belonging to the victims..."

"So what, you think this was some kind of Satanic cult?" Morgan eyed him sceptically. "We're already pretty sure who we're looking for, and the original profile didn't involve devil worship."

Dean shrugged again, infuriatingly. "Our 'original profile' doesn't either, buddy. Just trying to keep our options open."

Morgan sighed, this man was infuriating him more and more each time he spoke but Hotch had left him with him and he wasn't going to let him get in the way of solving the investigation, "I'm going to the bathroom, here" he said handing Dean his phone, "I want you to ring our technical analyst Garcia, she'll give you further information about each of the families and send over the coroners photographs so we can study his MO"

"Righto boss!" he smiled giving him a salute at which Morgan gritted his teeth and turned on his heel, Dean looked at the phone at the contact named 'Baby Girl' which he had left on his screen he frowned and wondered what his connection was to this woman, his curiosity continued as the dial tone rang in his ear.

"_Oh my hot chocolate Prince how I have waited all day to hear your voice, you have strayed too far mon chere" _she lowered her voice to barely a whisper, _"do you need punishing?"_

Dean smirked, "hey I don't know what I've done but punishing sounds good"

He could almost feel her tense up through the phone, _"who're you? Why do you have Derek's phone? I am the FBI, the things I can do with my computer I can have you arrested in a millisecond-"_

"Woah woah angry phone lady, I'm working with Morgan on this case he just told me to ring you and ask you to find stuff cause apparently that's your thing"

Garcia scoffed down the phone, _"find stuff!? Ha! I'm just the best damned finder of stuff that you'll ever come across! Person I do not know, tell me who you are then I will find you stuff"_

"This is a bit forward, I mean we've only just met each other but that's never stopped me before. I'm Dean, Dean Winchester"

There was silence, _"you're the one with the book life?"_

"Excuse me?"

"_Have you ever heard of a book series called Supernatural?"_

Dean brought his hand to his head and groaned internally, 'damn Chuck!' That book series would forever haunt him! "Nope, never heard of it"

"_Oh. Never mind then, must be just a weird coincidence…"_ she trailed off, _"anyway back to stuff!"_

**…**

When Morgan returned minutes later he saw Dean laughing down the phone, not only was this man interfering in his case he was now becoming pally with his best friend, his frown deepened as he approached.

"-I am so ready for that punishing now Penelope don't you worry" he turned to see Morgan standing merely feet from him, "oops your boyfriend is getting jealous, we'll meet for pie soon, pie is good!"

Morgan snatched the phone from his hand, "Baby Girl?"

"_Ooh Dean's right you are jealous, aw baby nobody can break our unbreakable bond that's why it's unbreakable you see! I gave him the 411 on creepy family murderers so no need to panic handsome. I know you Derek, you are just like him, both alpha male hotheads! That's why we probably got on well then, just both go to a bar or something, or get pie he said he's a pie man and just chat about women or whatever it is you superficial types talk about, anything unrelated to the case and then you'll find it easier to work together without all this tension, try for me please"_

He sighed, as usual Garcia was right, "I'll try Baby"

"_That's my boy and make sure you bring Dean home to me, a girl's got to have some fun when her superhero is off saving the world!"_

He grinned, "goodbye silly girl!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Reflection or Perception?  
Chapter 6**

Written by talented sexdrugsandoreos

* * *

They walked silently across the deserted car park. Dean started to whistle at one point - just to ease the tension - but promptly shut up when Morgan shot him a glare, holding his hands up in a declaration of innocence. If looks could kill, neither of them would be standing at this point.

Morgan came to a halt in front of one of the cop cars from before, peony white with blue and red stripes, stopping so abruptly that Dean was caught off guard and hurtled forwards, having to hold his arms out to keep from collapsing on the grubby floor (or - worse - the immaculately painted and polished car, or worst of all into Morgan himself). Morgan grabbed his shoulder instinctively and then pulled back. He shook his head and smiled without malice, and for the first time Dean caught a glimpse of the man he could be talking to, had they not got off to such a bad start - sweet, light hearted, easygoing. Then the moment was over and Morgan snapped back into Angry Agent mode as he pulled out his keys, pressing a button to open the door and then standing back to let Dean pass.  
"After you, Mr Winchester."

They were headed to a bar on the other side of town, incidentally just across the road from one of LA's (self-proclaimed) 'hottest beaches'. It had been one of Dean's favourite from the Los Angeles guidebook ("I think 'guidebook' is a bit of a generous term for 'Beer, Babes and Bitches', Dean," Sam had said, repeatedly, but what did he know?) he'd been flicking through as they sat in one of many service stations on the long drive to LA, eagerly reading extracts aloud to his (typically) reluctant brother.

_"'Want to refresh and rejuvenate while catching more than just a glimpse of the local hotties?' Is that even a question?!" Dean turned to Sam for confirmation, but Sam just rolled his eyes and opened his mouth - to say something annoying, no doubt._

_"Listen-"_

_Dean drowned his voice out (years of practice had come in handy), turning back to the book. He was gleeful in seconds. "Hey, listen to this, Sammy!" Sam sighed but finally shut up (or maybe his lecture had just come to its natural conclusion; Dean had tuned out so effectively it was impossible to tell)._

_"What is it?"_

_"'On most days, Quentin's Happy Hour runs from 6 til 8. HOWEVER -'" He stressed the word, grinning. "'However, on Tuesdays, Happy Hour is replaced by a whole Happy DAY, complete with cheap shots, cocktails and the hottest waitresses in town.'"_

_"So?"_

_"So, guess what day tomorrow is!"_

"We're going to be working, Dean." Morgan had sounded so much like Sam when he'd said it that Dean actually looked around to check he hadn't somehow snuck unnoticed into the car. No such luck; he'd take his killjoy brother over angry FBI agents any day.

Still, he'd agreed eventually – "It says here they do coffee. God knows I could use one of them." –, partly for an easy life, partly just because he really needed a coffee but also partly because both Rossi and Garcia's words were ringing in his ears. Though nobody was exempt from the occasional error of judgement, when it came to working a case especially, they were two people who could usually be trusted. If they trusted Dean, maybe – just maybe – he wasn't all bad.

One thing was for sure, though: he couldn't read a goddamn map.

"I've been reading maps since I could talk! You're just...listening wrong." Dean insisted, as they drove past the same turning for the seventh time that hour. "I swear to god, agent, if you raise your eyebrows at me one more time..."

"Screw this," Morgan cut in. He was sure they didn't have time for an argument – surer still they didn't have time to drive through the same three Los Angeles streets _yet again_. "I know a cafe we can go."

Dean's face fell.

"Either that or I can file a report against you, for fraud and wasting valuable case time. Your choice."

Dean was positive Morgan was bluffing. Absolutely positive. At least 80%.

"It's a nice place. Good to think." Dean still didn't look convinced. "Does a mean coffee. Best pie in town, too."

As if on cue, Dean's stomach rumbled loudly. No wonder – he realised suddenly he hadn't eaten in over 24 hours. Even more upsettingly, he hadn't even laid eyes on a pie in over 48.

"Okay, okay. I'm sold."

The cafe was smaller than Dean had expected - certainly a lot smaller than Quentin's Bar, online photos of which had showed large stretches of table, bar stools scattered all over the room and a perpetual stream of people coming through the door, sand covered and smiling and open mouthed in a way that suggested hugely eager and enthusiastic - if perhaps not entirely coherent - conversation was afoot. By contrast, Rose Cafe was small and crowded, its admittedly few customers squashed in like sardines on dainty white metal chairs and little wooden tables that looked to have been tailor made for children - or would, were they not all covered by distinctly grandma-esque pink and white floral tablecloths and inhabited by distinctly grandma-esque people, talking in soft, world weary voices or stirring their tea in silence. The walls matched the tablecloths in pattern but not in condition; the paper was tatty and worn, with one wall almost entirely stripped and a large area of damp someone had attempted (and failed) to inconspicuously hide behind a framed painting, some smudgy modern crap that could easily have been mistaken for a three year old's finger-painting handiwork was it not for the artist's signature scrawled proudly at the bottom.

Dean struggled for a second to think where it was that this place reminded him of.

"Excuse me, DEAR, but would you KINDLY move out of the way, please?" An elderly lady in a mohair jumper and moth-bitten tights stood just behind them, expression towing the line between smile and grimace as she eyed them up with poorly concealed distaste. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of Morgan's FBI badge, and she muttered something (not quite) under her breath about "more trouble than they're worth" as she squeezed past them. Dean raised his eyebrows and turned to Morgan, expecting a response. The agent merely smiled and shook his head.

"Good old Mabel."

"Mabel, eh?" Dean gave a low chuckle, and was just about to quip something about not knowing geriatrics were his type (Morgan had spent a worryingly long time without seeming pissed with Dean now; it was starting to unnerve him) when he spotted the black, cat shaped broch on the old lady's bag and it hit him.

"So. Pie?" Morgan looked at Dean, taking in his incredulous expression. "What now?"

"In all of LA, you choose HERE?! It's like a carbon copy of that creepy old lady's creepy house!"

"By 'creepy old lady', I assume you mean our victim's mother? The one whose house you entered illegally, using fake I-D to pose as an agent of the law?"

Dean pulled a face but didn't answer.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Seriously, dude, CARBON COPY. The only thing missing is the cat piss."

Morgan laughed, annoyance temporarily forgotten. Dean looked so disgusted he just couldn't help himself.

"Relax, it's not exactly my usual scene either. But the food's good and the people are friendly...David, Jolene! My grandma lived in LA when I was little," he explained, as an elderly couple entered, flashing a scowl in Dean's direction before turning to wave, positively beaming, at Morgan. "She used to take me here a lot." Dean still didn't look convinced. "Look, it might not be your idea of fun, but we're here now. We've already wasted more than enough time trying to chase down your goddamn babes and beaches and that hasn't exactly..."

"Okay, okay," Dean held up his hands in surrender. He gave in. If they didn't start properly working on this case soon, they never would - at least not before a lot more people died. Besides, he was starving. "Get pie, then we'll talk."

To its credit, the pie was pretty damn delicious.

Dean demolished it in seconds, Morgan watching him with a curious mixture of admiration and distaste. He'd bought only a coffee, which he drank in gulps, stopping only to sigh with weary contentment. For the first time, Dean started to notice the bags under Morgan's eyes, the lines creased into his forehead, the way every so often he lowered his head to inconspicuously cover a yawn. He'd done a damn good job of hiding it at first, but Morgan was exhausted. That made two of them.

When Dean was done eating, Morgan put his coffee down - slowly, reluctantly, like a child forced to part with their plaything.

"You can finish that, you know," Dean said, and Morgan glanced briefly at his watch, groaned and said, "no, I really can't."

"Sure, we need to hurry. So drink while we talk."

Morgan didn't much like being told what to do by some phony - phony FBI agent AND phony reporter, whatever Rossi would have them believe -, but any personal feelings about Dean were fiercely overpowered by how damn thirsty and how damn TIRED he already was - and the case had barely even begun! He took another long gulp, pointedly ignoring Dean's nod of approval.

"So." The other man leant forward and for the first time, Morgan saw a glimmer of real interest in his eyes. "What exactly did you want to know?"

Somehow, they had ended up in a bar after all - not Quentin's admittedly, but far more his than Rose's style. Thank god.

"It's a nice cafe! They're nice people, kind old men and women, all of them. You need to learn some respect!" Morgan insisted, the strength and integrity of his words compromised maybe just a little by the fact that he was laughing.

Dean laughed too, hands raised in a half-hearted demonstration of innocence.

"Now, now, Agent Morgan, you have me all wrong." Morgan rolled his eyes, but this time it was almost affectionate.

"Disrespectful? Me? Of wrinkly old crones? Do you not know me at all?!"

"I'm trying, but no, I don't. Not yet."

Dean smiled sort of sheepishly.

"Touché. But back to the real issue here." He used his hands to gesture at their surroundings, lingering extra long on a leggy blonde with a lot of makeup and very few clothes. Morgan's eyebrows shot up. "You can't honestly expect me to believe you'd willingly choose Rose et al over THIS?"  
It was Morgan's turn to look sheepish. "Touche," he repeated and then - partly because he felt they should at least pretend to focus on the case, partly for an excuse to drink - he raised his glass. "To finally bringing the bastard who did this -" he tapped the file in front of them, opened primarily to give the illusion that work was being done - "down, for good."

Dean smirked, in a way that made some of Morgan's distrust and annoyance from earlier in the day begin to resurface - a way that suggested he knew something Morgan and the others didn't. But how could he?

"That's the plan," was all he said, and Morgan forced himself to be satisfied with that - forced himself not to question this, this strangely pleasant evening and strange almost-friendship he had found himself entering into with this mysterious man. An increasingly large part of him ached to escape to the bathroom and ring Garcia, to urge her to dig a little deeper.  
NO. FOCUS ON THE CASE.

Dean had been surprisingly forthcoming on the subject of the medical examiner, quoting huge chunks of what had been said and even digging out some neatly organised notes on the subject when Morgan's questions got too much for him to answer on the spot. Morgan had struggled and failed not to seem impressed and Dean had laughed

Dean was contentedly glugging beer when his phone beeped. He didn't even need to read the name to know that it was either Sam or Bobby.

_"Still in library with Reid. Actually really cool guy."_ (Dean pulled a face at that - but inwardly, in his head, because Morgan was clearly protective over Reid and, having finally left the wrong side of him, it'd be a shame to shoot right back there.) _"V smart but obv not clued in - makes progress hard. Sounds like computer girl Garcia is getting somewhere so ring in few mins prob. How's M? Hit you yet?"  
_  
"Not clued in?"

Stupidly, Dean had forgotten to account for Morgan's nosiness - for Morgan's SUSPICION - he had been given full opportunity to read over Dean's shoulder, and clearly he had taken it.

Dean locked the phone and shoved it in his pocket, turning to Morgan with a look he could only hope came across as nonchalance.

"Really, Agent? Didn't your pensioner pals teach you any manners?"

Morgan's lips didn't even twitch.

"Less of the talk, wise guy. If Rossi's gonna force me into working with some fraud, fine. Man's smart, even if I don't always understand how the hell his brain's working. But the least you can do is let me know what's going on here." Morgan leaned forwards on the table. Stern as his tone and expression was, his eyes were almost pleading, begging to be let in on the big secret. A secret he probably wouldn't believe even if Dean told him, even as it was staring him in the face.

And God knows how he'd react if he did. From what Dean knew of them (a good deal, given he regularly was one), FBI agents were well prepared to handle the darker corners of life - but they hadn't even the slightest inkling of what really lurked there.

Regardless, Morgan was still waiting. OBLIVIOUS, Dean thought, an unexpected pang of envy in his chest. What he wouldn't sometimes give to just not know (quite often, lately).

Morgan cleared his throat. He still looked more genuinely curious than angry, though very clearly fighting to maintain the threatening image he'd never really had in the first place. Not that Morgan wasn't good at his job - he was, probably, as much as anyone so clueless ever could be. Still, having quite literally raised Hell, hunky detectives weren't really on his fear radar.

"I-"

Dean did a quick, desperate brain search for spontaneous bullshit. It was fruitless, but he was saved from having to think any harder - or, most likely, dig any deeper in the hole he'd already found himself in - by the sharp, shrill ringing of his phone. A different phone, incidentally.

"Thankyou, God." Words he thought he'd never say. Ignoring Morgan's scornful stare, he whipped the phone out of his jacket pocket, noting Bobby - or, more technically speaking, a Mr FILL THIS IN - on the caller I-D before he pressed it to his ear. He thought and hoped that Morgan was too slow to catch the words on the screen this time - he had enough to explain as it was.

"Talk to me, Bobby."

_"Well, that was the plan,"_ came the sarcastic reply, _"I'm not quite old enough not to have figured out how these things work by now."_

Dean grinned. "Yeah, sure, my mistake. Cut to the chase, would you?"

From the way Bobby was talking, it was evident that Rossi was in the background listening - and equally evident that he knew exactly what was really going on, a fact Dean found reassuring if a little confusing. He guessed Rossi had worked on the original case with Bobby, and wondered if he should let Morgan in on what was really going on – some more help from the inside had to be a good thing, and, given that he'd even put up with Dean that long, he clearly respected the older man -, but thought better of it. There was no use bombarding him with The Whole Truth now, when he was completely clueless and almost guaranteed to be disbelieving; better to introduce it to him gradually, to ease him into it. If experience was anything to go by, it was only a matter of time before something impossible happened, before Morgan's picture of the world began slowly but surely to fragment. Better for everyone to let him put the pieces back together himself.

"Change of plan, boss."

"Was that Rossi?" Morgan dug in his pocket for his phone, then frowned at the blank screen. Fair enough if Rossi trusted this guy – he could only assume his superior knew something he didn't – but giving instructions _through him_? That wasn't just unprofessional; it was downright degrading.  
Dean took an uncomfortably long time to answer. _No one who's telling the truth needs that long_, Morgan thought, annoyance bubbling in his chest yet again.

"Yeah, I guess you could say it was. In a sense." Morgan didn't even need to say a word for Dean to relent. "Okay, okay, princess, calm down. It was Bobby, but Rossi was there too." Morgan nodded slowly. He didn't exactly trust Bobby either, but there was something inexplicably, kind of irritatingly likeable about him – he _wanted_ to trust him, which was more than could be said about his feelings for either Sam or Dean.

"What do we do?"

Dean gestured at a scrap of paper on the table. Morgan had seen him scribbling away during the phone conversation, and placed this under not so subtle scrutiny – acting in vain, as Dean's rapid, messy scrawl turned out to be utterly indecipherable.

"I can't read that," Morgan said, bluntly, "It's...an address?"

Dean nodded. "The address of a Mr Robert Blundell. Former sheriff of the LAPD." He clarified, clocking Morgan's blank expression. "What do you say we pay him a little home visit?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Reflection or Perception?  
Chapter 7**

Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, follows and favourites. Written by the one and only sexdrugsandoreos

* * *

Dean and Morgan drove for half an hour in near silence, broken only by the sporadic tapping of Dean's feet on the floor. He seemed agitated, a new development Morgan found both pleasing and mysterious. He could question a lot of things about his new accomplice, but he couldn't question his confidence; the so-called reporter had been self-assured to the point of arrogance all day, and that included the significant period in which he had been shut behind bars. What had changed?

Dean stared expressionlessly out of the window. He could physically feel the agent's stare, burning holes in his back, but he refused to turn around.

It had been hard enough to keep the truth from Morgan thus far. What was he going to do when the old sheriff himself started rambling about exorcism and possession?!

On the plus side, it made Sam, Dean and Bobby's side of the story more believable – to have not only a senior agent at the BAU but a former police sheriff from the case testifying on their side was sure to catch even the most hard-headed sceptic off balance. The most hard-headed sceptic...Dean had a sneaking suspicion he was sitting next to him.

Dean thought back to the café, to how Morgan had spoken of coming there with his grandma. _Tight family unit_, he thought. _Happy, normal childhood._ But maybe not completely – there was something in the depth of Morgan's eyes and the way he stood almost too tall, something in his voice even as he laughed and joked around, something that reeked of suffering. Dean knew. He knew it in himself – in Sam and Bobby and his father and even in Cas. Sometimes especially in Cas.

For the first time since they'd got back in the car, Dean allowed himself to sneak a look at Morgan. Their eyes locked for just a second before he turned away, words caught in his throat.

He wondered what Morgan's father had told him about the dark.

* * *

After a period that felt both fleeting and infinite, Morgan pulled up, outside an immaculate white stone building that looked to be at least three storeys high.

Dean gave a short whistle of approval, almost laughing out loud as he thought back to Bobby's warnings about the former sheriff – not too traumatised to splash out on first class living, clearly.

Morgan was already unbuckling his seatbelt and kicking open the door, not even trying to hide his eager impatience to get things moving. A man who preferred action to research: Dean could certainly relate to that.

"So? You going to sit eating pie and drinking beer all day or are you going to come and actually make yourself useful for once?" Morgan's tone was jokey, a clear attempt to re-capture the light-heartedness of their bar meeting, but there was a definite edge to it.

Dean shook himself and jumped out of the car. He stared at the building again, this time even more doubtfully. Bobby hadn't said anything about the sheriff being a freakin' millionaire.

"You sure this is the right place?"

Morgan checked the address – which he had written down himself on a separate napkin, finding Dean's handwriting stubbornly determined to remain illegible no matter how many times he had it read aloud to him – and nodded.

"Pretty sure. Only one way to find out, isn't there?"

They rang the bell – the grand gates at the front of the garden were so large and majestic Dean had half hoped they'd be some impressive electronic operation involved, but no such luck – and stood awkwardly for a couple of minutes. Morgan reached into his pocket, finding his badge and holding it ahead of him. Dean started to reach for his fake ID, but Morgan shot him down with a glare.

"Joking!" he protested, feebly, "It was just a joke. Just a funny little reminder of our time together."

Eventually, the door swung open, revealing an immaculately groomed young woman with raven black hair all down her back, clutching at the hand of a big blue-eyed little boy. Dean couldn't be sure, but he was fairly sure neither of these were the sheriff.

"Hello, Madam, I'm Agent Morgan of the BAU. This is...my associate." Dean aimed what he knew from experience – and just common sense, really – to be a charming smile in the young lady's direction. She didn't respond. "Sorry to disturb you like this, but I was just wondering if this is the residence of a Mr Robert Blundell?"

The woman shook her head, slowly, thoughtfully. Dean and Morgan waited, but she didn't elaborate.

"Oh? Has Mr Blundell sold this residence? Do you have any idea where we could find him?"

The woman's head was still shaking slightly, teeth chewing at her bottom lip. Dean was no psychologist, but he was fairly sure this wasn't simply a case of old Bob having moved out; the woman clearly knew something.

"Can we come in?" he asked, when it became apparent that this woman had no intention of answering (and had potential mental issues to match those of yesterday's Crazy Cat Lady).

Finally – thankfully – a light seemed to go on in the woman's mind. She stood up straight, suddenly, smiling in a way so forced it seemed almost manic.

"Robbie," she said to the little boy. Dean and Morgan exchanged curious looks. "Run along and play now, would you, darling? Daddy and Emma are in the other room doing jigsaws! You love jigsaws, remember?"

The little boy looked down at the floor, sleek black hair falling over his eyes. From what little could be made out of his expression, he didn't look convinced.

"I _hate_ jigsaws. I'm rubbish at them."

"Nonsense!" his mother was clearly not especially skilled in the art of lying. Robbie didn't even look up. "Besides, you know what they say...practice makes perfect! Now, go! Go!" Her voice got increasingly shrill as she spoke, and by the last word she was physically shoving her little boy into the living room, muttering indecipherable words to her husband as she did.

"The FBI?" Her husband wasn't quite so quiet, clearly agitated though trying to contain himself in the presence of the kids. "Oh, Jesus, Beth...Jesus, okay."

Beth murmured something that sounded like, "I love you," and then swiftly pulled the door shut. Then everything was silent but the ticking of the old grandfather clock that stood at the foot of the hall, droning steadily on despite clearly having seen better days.

"Beth, is it?" Morgan said pleasantly, "Are you a relative of Robert's? Do you know where we can find him?"

"What is this about?" Beth was fighting hard not to be timid, but her voice was still small.

"Is Robert here, Beth?" No response. Dean pushed on, hoping to reassure her, while Morgan watched, both surprised and annoyed by how inexplicably _good at this_ he was.

"Nobody's in any trouble here. We heard he used to be sheriff of the LAPD some years ago, and that he worked a case in 1987 –" Beth flinched at the mention of the year; Dean pretended not to notice. "A case that's recently come back to light. We were just wondering if we could talk to him about it."

"Not likely." All heads turned to face Beth's husband, who had snuck unnoticed into the room. His face was deathly white and his voice trembled. Morgan was mystified; even Dean was shocked. "My name is Elliot Blundell. Robert is – _was_ – my father." Beth moved closer to her husband now, gripping his hand in support. "He died five months ago."

Morgan turned to face Dean, trying to gage his reaction. He looked genuinely shocked.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Mr Blundell," Morgan said gently. Dean nodded.

"From what I've heard, your father was a great man."

Elliot let out a strange sound then, a choked half-laugh that set Morgan on edge.

"Oh? You disagree?"

Morgan frowned at Dean's tone; it was hardly professional. He had to remind himself that this was hardly the time to berate him – there'd be plenty of opportunities for that later...

Elliot laughed again, more clearly but still mirthlessly. When he spoke, the bitterness in his tone was unmistakable.

"My father _was_ a great man, yes. Once. Or so I'm told." Beth's fingers were moving along his arm now, patting him like a spooked horse. Elliot flinched but didn't push her away. "The Great Case of 1987 changed all that."

"Oh?"

Morgan couldn't work out if Dean was genuinely unsurprised or just incredibly good at playing it cool. Nor was he sure which of the two he found more annoying.

He decided to take control.

"I understand this is a distressing issue for you, but would you mind us coming in and asking you a few questions about the case?"  
Elliot shrugged. "I was eight. Not heavily involved, if I'm honest." His voice was steadier now, but his shaking hands betrayed him. Morgan thanked God that Reid wasn't there to recite the seven signs of lying.

"All the same, your father was clearly heavily involved in a way that affected you. Anything you can remember that could possibly be of even the slightest assistance is vital." Elliot hesitated. "With all due respect, Mr Blundell, people are dying here. All we ask is that you do the little in your power to help us figure out why."

"That your catchphrase or something?" Dean hissed at Morgan, after Elliot slumped down, defeated, and beckoned them not especially graciously into the living room.

Morgan ignored him. He had no interest in petty bickering now; it was time for the truth.

* * *

Beth went to the kitchen and made them all cups of coffee, two small children trailing behind her. The little boy paused for a few seconds in the doorway, eyeing them up suspiciously before his mother dragged him after her.

Dean gave a low, affectionate chuckle, "Cute kids."

"Thanks," Elliot said stiffly, staring at his feet. He hadn't made eye contact with anyone since they'd sat down.

Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but to his surprise Elliot took the initiative and asked the first question.

"It's back?"

Morgan frowned, but Dean nodded.

"The Night Slasher," he confirmed quickly – _too _quickly, too defensively to go unnoticed by a behavioural analyst. "The murderer. He's killing again."

Elliot squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out the words.

"You don't seem surprised," Morgan commented, unable to fully conceal his own mystification. It wasn't that Elliot was _happy_ about the killings – he wouldn't go that far – but he seemed almost as if...

"Rob Blundell." Elliot's eyes flickered open at the mention of the name. "Your father. I realise this was very recent, and I don't want to drag up any painful memories, but...how exactly did he die?"

"How _exactly_?" Elliot's tone was dark, almost mocking. He was no longer staring at the floor; instead, his eyes jumped from Dean to Morgan and back again, watching them for signs of..._of what? _Morgan wondered.

"Just the gist is fine," Dean offered. "Great, coffee!"

Beth handed them all their mugs and then ushered the children away.

"We'll be upstairs. Call me if I'm needed."

"You won't be," Elliot said briskly, "Just take the children and wait."

Beth's mouth fell momentarily into a scowl; she picked it up quickly, forcing herself to regain the role of the Supportive Wife.

"Of course, dear." It was only slightly sarcastic. The door was opened and closed and stairs were ascended without another word.

"Nice girl," Dean commented, "Makes a mean cup of coffee, too. You should hold onto her."

Elliot frowned. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware you'd come here to give me relationship advice. This a new service the FBI is offering?"

Morgan looked from one to the other and struggled to resist the urge to bang their heads together. He wondered if that was how other people had felt around him and Dean; he wondered if that was how _everyone_ felt around Dean, or at least around this smug, overly confident, walking-defence-mechanism persona of his.

"Your father," Morgan reminded him, tone soft but firm.

"My father died from..." Elliot paused, as if to consult a medical form. "_Anoxia_ – the absence or cut-off of oxygen to the brain. Self-induced."

"He topped himself?" Morgan was all for being blunt, but Dean took it to a whole new level. To both of their surprise, Elliot smiled.

"Bingo. Only because he was being chased...or thought he was being chased, anyway. Only because he thought that if he didn't, someone else did."

"The Slasher?" Morgan guessed. Elliot was still looking between them, clearly trying to suss them out. The fact that Dean so obviously looked the more clued in of the pair infuriated him beyond belief.

"Just how much do you know about the case, Agent-"

"Morgan. I know enough." At least, he'd thought it was enough.

Elliot's smile was almost kind in its condescension. Morgan would've preferred arrogance. Once again, he felt he was in the dark, left out of some big, vital secret at the heart of the case.

Whatever it was, Rossi had to know. He'd half a mind to call him and force it out of him right then – but no. He had to be professional. He had to stop being so damn paranoid.

It had just been a really long day.

Elliot turned to Dean. "I don't think I know your name, Agent...?"

Dean smiled that sickeningly slick smile and held out a hand. "Wil-"

"He's Dean. Dean Winchester," Morgan cut in sharply, "He's a reporter."

Elliot's eyes widened, in a way Morgan tried to convince himself was due simply to a healthy, not uncommon distaste and suspicion where reporters were concerned.

"Of course you are," he said – so simple, so matter-of-fact that neither Morgan nor Dean had the faintest idea what to make of it.

Morgan cleared his throat, annoyance bubbling in his chest once again. He was the one actually _supposed_ to be here – and, for that matter, the only one around there making any kind of sense; why did he feel so out of place?!

"Back on topic, Mr Blundell. How exactly would you describe your father's involvement in the 1987 case?"

* * *

Without ever explicitly refusing to answer questions, Elliot managed to say very little. He was cryptic and edgy, occasionally turning to look at Dean with an almost pleading look of confusion in his eyes. Dean pretended not to notice. He wished he could get shot of Morgan and find out exactly what it was this man knew. He spent most of Morgan and Elliot's stilted conversation praying Morgan would slip out for a second, waiting on a bathroom break that never came despite copious amounts of coffee consumed earlier that day.

"You say your father was afraid of being killed," Morgan pressed on, after Elliot gave an answer that was monosyllabic at best ('grunt' would be a more accurate description). He was determined, Dean had to give him that. "Was he threatened?"

Elliot was still watching Dean, waiting. Morgan had to physically resist the urge to bark out "look at me when I'm talking to you!"

There was another long pause, then Elliot sighed, defeated.

"You two are associates of Bobby Singer and David Rossi, right?"

"Right," Dean and Morgan replied simultaneously – finally, something they could agree on.

"Then hang on a second."

With that, Elliot disappeared into the main body of the house, leaving Dean and Morgan alone again.

Neither man spoke, but for once there was no air of tension or resentment in the silence. Both were simply preoccupied trying to arrange their fragmented knowledge into a coherent whole – to work out where they were, what they knew and what they didn't.

Bobby hadn't said much about the sheriff – perhaps because of lack of time or the possibility of agents other than Rossi overhearing, perhaps because he thought Dean had enough experience with all things demonic to figure it out or perhaps because he simply didn't know all that much himself.

_"Old Bob Blundell. Nice guy. Odd, though. Kept on getting odder the more we saw of him, the more the case went on, if you get my drift."_ In the background, Dean could hear Rossi talking, tone low and severe. The guy was either delivering a monologue – a possibility he didn't know him well enough to rule out – or also talking on the phone, probably to that Reid kid or one of the other agents. Dean couldn't help but wonder what – or, rather, _how much_ – he was telling them.

There had been a thousand questions on the tip of Dean's tongue, a thousand possibilities running through his head. He was sure there must be more to the story than Bobby was letting on – that he was implying something, or at least a suspicion of something –, but, with Morgan's eyes still fixed harshly and unwaveringly on him, it was impossible to ask.

"You think he's...involved, somehow? Some way we don't know about?"

Dean could practically hear Bobby shrug.  
_  
"Sure, maybe, maybe not. That's what I want you to find out. All we know is the case shook him up pretty bad."_

Morgan knew even less than Dean, though his mind was working in overdrive trying to catch up. It was clear Robert Blundell had been very intimately involved with the case, probably down to one-on-one contact with the killer – involved enough for him to feel seriously threatened, so threatened he'd rather take his own life than take his chances. Whether or not he was right to feel this way it was impossible to say – but a killer who disappeared without a trace for twenty years and re-appeared just five months after his main pursuer's death was surely more than a coincidence.

Both men were so wrapped up in their thoughts they didn't even notice Elliot re-entering the room, clutching a white paper envelope in his hand.

"You FBI are a talkative bunch, aren't you?"

"Only in such thrilling company." Dean clocked the envelope. On its front, in clear black block capitals, were the words _TO BOBBY SINGER AND DAVID ROSSI_ – and underneath, in smaller writing, _the truth_.

"And besides, he's just a report-" Morgan stopped mid-sentence, also catching sight of the letter. "Ah. Truth. Sure could do with a bit of that."

He reached out for the envelope, and Elliot instinctively clasped it closer to him. "You _are_ Singer and Rossi's men, aren't you?" The question was addressed to both of them, but he was looking mostly at Dean and Dean wished he wouldn't. For a brief period earlier in the day, Morgan had actually liked, almost trusted him – a state of affairs that seemed to grow further from the truth with every passing second with this man. "You know what's going on and you can fix it, right?"

"Sure," Dean said, voice holding more conviction than he felt.

"We'll do everything we can. But you need to help us out here, Sir," said Morgan, holding out his hand again – gentle but firm. This time, Elliot complied.

Morgan unpeeled the envelope, unfolded the note and began to read.

Dean tried to edge closer to him, but he deliberately held it away, enjoying being the one in the know for a change.

Morgan looked up from the note and caught Elliot's eye. The look he got back was something between pleading and defiant.

"Well? What does it _say_?" Dean's impatience was palpable. Morgan ignored him.

"Thankyou, Mr Blundell. That certainly explains a lot." Still not why he thought Dean would be in the know, mind. "I assume you don't mind if we take this back to the unit as evidence?"

Elliot shook his head, looking relieved. "No, of course. Whatever you need...whatever can stop this."

Morgan strode ahead, envelope in jacket pocket. Dean bounded behind like an edgy, excitable puppy, struggling to maintain a facade of nonchalance Morgan had never really bought in the first place.

"Well?" he demanded when they got in the car, "You gonna tell me what it says?"

Morgan fought the temptation to drag it out – or to bargain with Dean, to demand some truth off him in exchange for this. What 'clued in' meant in this context, why Elliot had treated the damn _reporter_ like the more knowledgeable one in the case – even just what the hell him and Sam were really doing there in the first place, who the hell they really _were_ except two nobodies from Kansas, would've been a start.

But there was no time to bargain. Even if there was, he'd a sneaking suspicion Dean would choose more inventive lies over the truth any day.

"Here," he delved into his pocket, "Read it for yourself."

_To Bobby Singer and David Rossi,_

_If you're reading this, I'm dead. I'm dead because I had no other choice._

_Twenty years ago, I made a deal. Now the time's come for me to fulfil my side of it._

_It's been a long time coming. There's not been a day I didn't think about it._

_Please don't think badly of me. I needed to save my city – and I was offered money, land, a better future for my kids. My __kids__. I needed to make them safe. At the time I don't think I even realised what I was signing up for._

_Now it's over and it's coming and I can hear it and I need to end my life before I'm dragged out of it, even though I know the end result's the same. There are no two ways about it – I'm going to Hell._

_It's too late for me. Please save yourselves. Please save my children._

_I'm sorry._

_Bob Blundell  
Former sheriff of the LAPD _

"Including your former job title in a suicide note," Dean smirked, more for something to say than out of genuine amusement, "Nice touch."  
"You don't seem too surprised."

Dean shrugged. "When you've been..._reporting_ as long as I have, you wind up pretty hard to surprise."

Ironically to Dean's surprise, Morgan actually laughed.

"I guess maybe we're not so different after all."


	8. Chapter 8

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 8**

Thank you again for all the support, second chapter of the day written by me.

* * *

Bobby Singer was a man of few friends but the few he kept close were his family. The same trait could be found in David Rossi. Although they came from worlds apart these two men were not all that different. They had both experienced love and lost, and had spent their lives fighting injustice. Though this time they were fighting the injustice together.

The phone call had just come from Dean after their trip to the residence of former Sheriff of LAPD Robert Blundell, they now knew the truth, that man had sold his soul to a demon in order to stop the killings and create some peace and now all the grains of sand had fallen through the hourglass and his time was up. Bobby had never understood how they were so far from catching the demon the first time and then he practically arrived on their doorstep as if to allow himself to get caught but now he did. He had not been in the job long when this demon came to haunt him, he was working it alone, both John and Rufus were working solo cases when it caught his attention, this made it harder, he had to carry the weight of it by himself and he was not as knowledgeable as he was now, it was hard. Had he not convinced Rossi to believe him he would have been on the run for escaping prison for FBI fraud as Sam and Dean almost were earlier but somehow they managed to work past their different worlds and learn to fight together on the same side just as they were doing again twenty years later.

There had been plenty of time for Rossi to be filled in of the extraordinary events that had occurred during the twenty years that had passed. It seemed completely unthinkable that the apocalypse was coming and they had been completely oblivious to it. It put into perspective his role in life, he fought the evils in humanity while the hunters fought the supernatural.

"It was hard to forget" Rossi began as they drove towards Talton Institute for the Mentally Insane, he was attempting to take his mind off the stresses of the LA traffic which gave him just another reason to hate the city, "for years I saw demons in every case I solved, it gave me a sense of hope for once that it wasn't humanity committing these crimes. It all became too much, I was analysing suspects by the colour of their eyes to see if they're black and giving them holy water to drink during interviews rather than doing my job and profiling their behaviour, I was close to giving up. Finally I came to accept that the reason I did this job was to bring justice to the families and friends of the victim and to the victim themselves. I was starting something with the BAU back then and it's expanded to what it is now because that is our focus. You have your job and we have ours. I couldn't blur the two again. Except with this case..." he paused and tightened his grip around the steering wheel, "that's the main reason I can't tell the team, not that they'd believe me anyway, I don't want their perception of the job to be changed, I need them to focus on the evil in humans, if it's something else then are we doing our job correctly? I was the one who outright dismissed killings because of devil worship and now I'm learning that the devil now walks the earth, they won't understand, I won't destroy their ignorance to the way of the world"

Bobby nodded, "understandable" he replied thinking of all the times he and the boys have had to shatter the illusions of so many innocent people who don't deserve to know that the monsters in the dark are real.

* * *

The men parked outside the large white building before entering slowly, Bobby wheeled along on the sparklingly clean white floor while Rossi walked behind. At the reception they asked for a man named Gareth Emery, the woman behind the desk consulted her list before directing them to room 115. The building was surprisingly quiet as they headed down the corridor, too quiet for a large mental institute but they did not question it, they did not speak. The occasional nurse or doctor walked past them dressed all in white with blank eyes, it was were either man wanted to be, it was clear that in an institute so big that it was run with military precision but this questioned how well these patients were actually being treated. Bobby's mind flitted back to his poor friend Martin, he had been one of the best of them, smart, quick, reliable and then it all went wrong. No hunter wants his way out to be in an institution feeling vulnerable and useless as anything could come for you and you are unprotected. Spending your days endlessly thinking of all the people who have died in your life and who you couldn't protect. Bobby knew he wouldn't go out that way, he would put a bullet through his head before he got there.

_A bullet through his head. _

Apart from Dean several weeks earlier had not told anyone that ending his life was all Bobby could think about when he wasn't fixated on a job. He did not feel his life was worth carrying on, the damn apocalypse was coming and he was old and paralysed, what sort of a hunter did that make him? Good for staying on the phones or looking up law for hours but not to actually be on the job. He was living for one thing only, his boys. They would never forgive him if he left them too, they had lost too many people in their lives and living through too much to see him go to so he knew he had to stick it out, at least until the end of the world.

At room 115 Rossi knocked firmly, it was answered by a shaking man who they recognised from twenty years earlier. Now 47 in age Gareth Emery had completely deteriorated by the horrors that haunted him. Still in his blue dressing gown his eyes flew open as his eyes met with Bobby's and then Rossi's, he shook his head violently before attempting to close the door, but he was too weak.

"Gareth it's me Agent Rossi and Agent Armstrong from the Night Slasher case we need to talk to you" he called propping the door open with his foot.

His head continued to shake, "no no no no! You di-did this to m-me. Y-you should ha-have killed me!" he stuttered still hopelessly pushing against the door.

"Listen Gareth yet us come in and talk to you-" Bobby began.

He suddenly found a surge of strength within him, "-no!" and the door slammed shut.

Rossi looked taken back as the door shut in his face, "balls!" Bobby exclaimed folding his arms across.

Quiet sobs could be heard from behind the door, Bobby moved closer again. "Gareth we're the only ones who understand what you've been, it ain't Christmas having a demon inside you, trust me I know. Someone else controlling you, making you do unspeakable things when you're trapped inside your own grapefruit trying to take control. I took control and got myself rollin' in this wheelchair" he waited, "just talk to us, you'll get an honest ear listenin' to you for the first time since you've been in this joint"

After several minutes the lock turned and Gareth's face peered through the door and he beckoned them inside. As soon as they passed through the threshold he was quick to replace the salt which had been smeared across the floor. He then sat opposite the two men his hands and legs shaking agitatedly.

The room was dull, there was no personality to it at all, simply furniture and that was it. Only one distinct feature stood out, the salt. There were salt lines covering the doorway and window, someone had been doing their homework.

"As you've probably heard there have been murders very similar to those of the Night Slasher and we were wondering-"

"-W-wondering if it'd possessed me again?" Gareth cut over Rossi.

Bobby nodded, "it's been common in the past for demons to become attached to their vessel so we wanted to see you were ok"

Gareth laughed spitefully, "ok? Ok!? Do I look ok? I haven't been ok since that thing was inside me!" he cried, his anger causing him to speak clearer, "I had a house, I had career prospects I was going to teach, I had a wife and a baby boy..." he trailed off, "he visits occasionally but who wants to be known with the father in the mad house? It was fine for you, after your demon was gone you dropped me off at the hospital and everything was fine. Not for me! I had to live with the fact that I had killed people! Men, women, children, babies! I couldn't be around my own son. My wife left me. All I could talk about was possession so I was sent here and I never left"

Neither man knew what to say, there was a reason that one of the most important rules in hunting is never visit the same town twice because there is usually a mess left behind. It had become second nature to kill demons now with the help of Ruby's knife, easy to forget about the vessels, the human's inside of them. That was the only good thing about Sam's powers, he could do right by the humans. There was no escaping though, after exorcisms the vessel is forgotten, they have no time or room for compassion in that area.

"We want you to be protected Gareth, just because the demon isn't using you right now it doesn't mean it won't" Bobby finally said.

He gave a small smile, "I am p-protected" he shifted nervously in his seat he seemed so fragile and vulnerable, they had only seen the arrogant reflection of him through the demon's persona so they could only assume he was a happy man full of life before the demon had taken that away from him.

Rossi frowned, "how?"

"I-I remembered some of the things you used against me, holy water, salt and a devil's trap" he said glancing up at the ceiling which showed the devil's trap symbol painted shakily in red, "they let me keep it because it helped me sleep" he stood up and walked over to his shelf and pulled a black paperback book off. Bobby touched his head in despair when he saw the cover, "a girl from in here has read these Supernatural books and said there's all the information I need to protect myself" he pulled the side of his robe to reveal a tattoo on his upper chest, the replica of the one Sam and Dean have, "in here it says it stops me from being possessed"

Bobby nodded releasing that there was they were wasting their time, he had done everything he could have to stay protected from the demon, he wasn't coming back for him, no demon is that attached. It was time to rethink what they knew and finally catch this demon and put the knife through his chest, vessel or no vessel, he had to be killed so he could never return, "yeah it will do, congratulations Gareth you are officially the safest vessel we've ever come across, try not to let those demons ruin your life though and reconnect with your kid" he said before rolling his wheels towards the door.

"Wait! I need to tell you something, I was taken on a ride by a unicorn last week and then it returned yesterday and we were eating candy" he rambled.

Bobby frowned but turned back, "thanks Gareth, get some sleep"

Rossi waited until they were back in the car before he spoke again, "do you think that last bit meant something?"

Bobby shook his head, "he's been in that mad box for twenty years his marbles have probably been scrambled past recognition"

"But he is safe?" he asked wearily turning to him.

He looked at the institute and thought back to the feeble man in the room and nodded, "yeah he's safe, but that leaves us back at square one"


	9. Chapter 9

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 9**

As always thank you for your continued support, co-written by sexdrugsandoreos.

* * *

The trip to the Sheriff's house had given them all the answers they needed in Dean's mind, Robert Blundell had sold his soul to stop the deaths from occurring and now the demon was back now that debt had been paid. Morgan however believed a different story, a story very similar to one made by The Reaper who was currently making the team's lives a misery, in particular Aaron Hotchner. He had made a deal with the Police Chief at the time that if they stop hunting him, then he'll stop hunting them, once the chief died the deal was broken and he began to kill once more.

No matter which way the case was looked at they still had no leads.

The team reassembled at the LAPD headquarters. Rossi technically took the lead but turned to Bobby for reassurance after every other sentence; 'all too clear who's really running the case here', thought Morgan, while outwardly nodding along. Since when did David Rossi take orders from anyone?

"Morgan?" He realised, all too late, that he'd been so wrapped up in internal complaining, he had completely forgotten to pay attention to what was actually being said. Now, the whole team were looking at him expectantly, waiting for the answer to a question he couldn't even begin to guess.

"Uh...yeah, yeah," he tried his best to sound confident and self-assured, hoping that might get him off the hook even if it turned out to be a nonsensical response in the context. A simple mishearing beat outright ignorance any day.

"You and Dean visited the Sheriff, yeah? You think you can keep your eyes open long enough to explain to the rest of the team what happened there?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan saw Dean struggle to conceal a laugh.

"We went to visit the Sheriff, but we didn't see him." A look of confusion washed over the faces around him. "Old man passed away just five months ago. Suicide."

"That has to have something to do with the case, right?" JJ spoke up boldly, faltering only slightly when every face in the room turned to look at her. "Killer disappears for twenty years, then starts again just five months after the death of the lead sheriff of the case? And...Rossi, you said he was traumatised, right? More than any of you could ever really understand?"

"Right," Bobby answered for him, actually more impressed by the agents than he'd care to admit - looked like some feds did listen after all.

"Personal involvement. Bargaining," Morgan confirmed, "And we don't THINK." He reached into his pocket and brought out the slip of notepaper from the Sheriff, waving it in front of the curious faces of the rest of the team. "Assuming this isn't a forgery - and we don't see any reason why it would be -, we know."

Bobby wheeled himself in Morgan's direction, coming to a dead end in the form of a perplexed looking Reid.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you-"

Bobby pulled a face and ignored him, addressing Morgan instead.

"Hey, just...pass that here, would you?" He pointed at the folded letter still clasped protectively between Morgan's fingers, tacking on a half-hearted "PLEASE" for good measure on seeing the reproachful looks of both Rossi and Morgan himself.

Morgan looked to Rossi for guidance. Rossi smiled and nodded. "You don't need to check everything with me, you know. Bobby's running this case too."

There were a lot of raised eyebrows at that; Rossi himself regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He might be maximising Bobby's involvement in the case in reality - he was best equipped to deal with it by far, mentally if no longer physically -, but it was equally important he minimised the emphasis on Bobby and the Winchesters when he was talking to the team. For all they knew, they were just reporters. What kind of a senior profiler lets a damn reporter co-run a case?!

It all just raised way too many questions - and the less his team had of them, the better.

Still, no time for dwelling on regrets now. Bobby had unfolded the letter and his eyes were now moving rapidly down the page, expression grave from the start.

He handed it wordlessly to Rossi.

* * *

Despite collating their information on the case there was still no movement forward until the phone call came in that evening, the man fitted the profile, worked as a builder, a loner, broken home, had been seen lurking around a suburban neighbourhood similar to the other crime scenes and talking to local children. J.J. flagged it and referred it to Hotch thereby making him a priority, the teams had gone their separate ways for the evening, the BAU had remained at the LAPD headquarters whilst Sam, Dean and Bobby had headed to a nearby motel. The team immediately tracked the man's movements for the night to see if he was a viable suspect.

Sam lay down on the hard motel bed and sighed it had been hard work trying to find out information about a case whilst trying to pretend that it's something that it's not. Dean pulled three beers from the fridge and passed them around, he too was tired of pretending to these people but Bobby had given them strict orders not to destroy their illusions.

Sam suddenly sat up after receiving a text, "it's from Reid, he says they're tracking a suspect, they haven't got concrete evidence to bring him in yet"

Dean scoffed and took another swig of his beer, even after working with these people for several days now he was still sceptical. Years of distrust and hatred of the people who seemed to constantly be chasing their tails trying to lock them away didn't die quickly, "so what now you're in their circle of trust?"

He simply ignored his brother, "don't you see, we can go and exorcise this demon now before it causes anymore damage"

"Now hold up Speedy Gonzales, we don't even know if this guy is the killer" Bobby replied.

Sam was also sick of sitting around but it also didn't sit right with him when it was families that were being killed, parents shouldn't have to watch their children die, grandparents shouldn't have to bury their children and their grandchildren, so many lives unlived were being taken prematurely. If they had a chance of stopping this murderous spree before anymore damage was done then he was ready to take it, "it's the best lead we've had all day" he shrugged.

Dean stood up, "I'm with you, I need to do some real work, all this waiting around isn't good for you"

It was now Sam's turn to scoff, "only cause you have to use your brain! You coming Bobby?"

"Yeah, cause I'm gonna be real useful to you two trapping a demon, I know I'll wheel over him to stop him moving!" he cried sarcastically.

The boys knew that it was killing Bobby that he couldn't do more due to his disability, they knew how strong he was and what a brilliant hunter he had become and all that was being wasted because a demon had taken that away from him just like they had taken away their parents' lives. They needed to support him as much as they could because they knew if he cracked they weren't ready for life without him.

* * *

The street was dark lit by only the dimmest lights, perfect for things to be lurking in the shadows. The Impala crept silently along the road, its black coat camouflaged into the darkness, neither brother made a sound as they prepared themselves for the first real practical work they had been able to do all case. Sam and Dean parked opposite the street where the last known sighting of the suspect had been recorded on the police system. Through the window they could see an older man in a crisp, expensive suit turn down an alleyway, it crossed their minds why such a clearly wealthy man was walking down alleyways alone at night especially in quiet, unassuming suburbs. Shortly afterwards they saw that their suspect also turned into the alley and followed.

With Ruby's knife and the flask of holy water in hand they crossed the street and down the darkened alleyway, as the brothers approached they witnessed the beginning of a struggle between the two men and hastily hurried towards it. Immediately Dean through his arms around the suspect while Sam took hold of the victim and helped him away.

Sam stared at the suspect who kept struggling in Dean's arms, "_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ _omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion_ _infernalis adversarii-" _he began to recite before the man's cries stopped him.

"-Please! I don't know what you want but I'm sorry!" tears fell down his face, "I need the money, what I get paid doesn't cover the healthcare for my daughter and that man practically throws money down the toilet, I've never done anything like this before!"

Sam looked at Dean and lowered the knife, "I don't think he's a demon" he whispered.

Dean stared at his brother and wanted to slap his forehead in despair at his stupidity, "you think!?" he exclaimed sarcastically.

"You live alone though. You were seen talking to the neighbourhood kids today and lurking around this neighbourhood" Sam asked as Dean loosened his grip around the man.

He sighed, "me and my wife divorced, we were in the middle of a custody battle when our daughter got sick, she lives with her new partner around here, I thought if I got some money together to help pay then they would let me see her more often. I know some of the kids are her friends and I thought they might be able to tell me how she's getting on. I am sorry"

Dean let him go completely, "It's alright get out of here" he said calmly, the man nodded and hurried back down the road, "so what, no demon?"

Sam sighed, "it was a long shot" he looked down at his phone which had just vibrated again in his pocket, "that's Reid, there's been another attack"

The brothers left the alleyway in silence and collapsed back inside the one place where they would always feel safe, the one place that they could always return to. It was so much more than a car, it was home. Dean pushed a new cassette into the radio, leant his head back and closed his eyes as the music began to infiltrate into his mind which he happily allowed to overtake his thoughts. How much he wished he could go back to the days when it was him and Sammy fighting demons in small towns, the job would take two days tops and then they would be back on the road, laughing, pranking, acting like real brothers. A time before hell and angels and demon blood and the apocalypse, a time before Azazel and Ruby and Lilith and Zachariah and Lucifer and Michael and a time when their world made sense and it was only their mother's death which they had to avenge. The fate of the world rested on their shoulders and right now they couldn't solve a simply demon case. Had they strayed so far from their original path? Could they even call themselves hunters anymore?

They could not go back now, only forward and giving up had never been an option. They were Sam and Dean Winchester and although they did not know it at the time, they were going to win.


	10. Chapter 10

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 10**

Co-written by the fabulous sexdrugsandoreos.

* * *

It was the Harrison family which was cruelly taken the previous night, the culprit had slipped past the patrols. He was clever, the Los Angeles suburbs were too vast to canvas them all and he targeted a different suburb on each attack thereby not allowing the police to know where he'll strike next.

None of this sat right with Bobby, he had been in the job too long to know that demons were never this smart, the first time he got a kick out of being sadistic but that was because he revealed to them that he was just as twisted as a human as he was in hell. Nevertheless he didn't need to be smart, if they were caught they could simply smoke out of their current vessel and find another one or kill whoever caught them and disappear as suddenly as they appeared. All the answers pointed to the demon returning so what had changed? To Bobby, it didn't make a lick of sense.

The police headquarters was quiet, the rest of the team had gone to the latest crime scene while Reid sat alone with his thoughts analysing the case, there was something they had missed. He glanced up at the television which sat in the corner it was a news report from outside the Harrison house. Behind Belinda Matthews the Channel 5 daily news reporter stood a man whose face was shielded from the camera but Reid studied his body language and it was very suspicious yet very familiar.

"Garcia?" Reid called down the phone moments later.

"_Oh my boy genius I thought you had all abandoned me." _

"I need you to pull all the news footage from the case, specifically news reports from outside the victims homes."

"_From the current case or from 1990?"_

"Just this case for now."

"_It'll be sent to your tablet before you can bat an eyelid, ciao!" _and with that she hung up the phone.

As promised within five minutes all the news footage from the case had been sent; Reid trawled through hours of reports from the victims and the same pattern was emerging, that mysterious man was in the background of each of the shots. This was not a coincidence, this man was clearly involved, in what way they needed to find out and fast before another family was horrifically murdered.

* * *

After their false attempt at exorcising the demon the previous night and finding out there had been further deaths, the Winchester boys were feeling physically and mentally drained, Sam however was eager to accompany the BAU team at the crime scene while Dean preferred to have a large, high calorie, breakfast and mull over things himself. Just as he began to take a bite out of his 'breakfast burger' which was a speciality he had been desperate to try since arriving, the seat opposite was soon taken by Derek Morgan.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean cried his mouth filled with burger.

Morgan tilted his head, he was not in the mood for arguments, "we think we've got our guy, or a very strong suspect anyway." He pulled out his tablet and flicked to the picture which Garcia had blown up and digitally enhanced, "he's been at every crime scene, Reid spotted him lurking in the background of all the news reports"

"Have you identified him?" Dean asked not pausing from stuffing his mouth further, he was not stopping enjoying that meaty goodness for no-one.

"No" Morgan replied shortly, "but J.J. is organising a press conference in an hour outside the Harrison house and we'll be waiting for him"

That was when Dean's attention was caught, he knew they wouldn't just be able to catch this demon, it would easily escape from their grasp, he needed to be ready to protect those oblivious to the danger they would be facing.

Rossi, Bobby, Sam and Dean were all on high alert as they stood at the back of the crowd which had gathered to hear J.J. speak, they all had their guns filled with rock salt and holy water in flasks tucked safely inside their jackets. They were ready for this demon, he was not getting away this time. Just as J.J. began to walk to the microphone Dean suddenly felt a hand grip his arm.

"Dammit!" he exclaimed in shock, "Cas?"

Cas turned to face him, "Dean!" he panted, "you need to know about this case, it-" with that he was gone as quickly as he had arrived.

"Cas?" Dean cried into thin air, "Cas!"

Rossi frowned and looked around wildly, "who was that?"

"Oh just our resident angel," Bobby replied simply as if it was the most natural thing in the world to keep company with angels of the Lord, "what d'ya reckon that was all about?" he asked looking up at Dean.

He shook his head and looked back towards the conference, "no idea, but there is something up with him and there's something up with this case, something he wanted to warn us about. Lucifer maybe? Michael? Zachariah? Any of those clowns could be messing with him."

"Let's just focus on this demon for now." Sam said his eyes darting around the crowd looking for the vague picture of the man with the discarded face, he was clever, he knew his face would not represent that of a human's through the lens so he disguised it that left the team with a poor image of their suspect but still they looked.

The profilers stood at the edge of the crowd examining the behaviour of the audience with Hotch stood behind J.J. as she began to address them, for a moment he could have sworn he saw that same man with the beige trench coat but again he disappeared so quickly he couldn't be sure.

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to answer questions you may have regarding our latest case." J.J. began.

"Is it true that this is the work of the Night Slasher who murdered all those families from 1989 to 1991?" one reporter called out from the crowd.

"We have no definite evidence to link these murders to those at the present time" she answered calmly and concisely.

The rest of the questions and answers began background noise as Prentiss was the first to notice the man dressed all in black edging his way towards the front of the crowd. There was no mistaking that it was the same man from the earlier news reports. Rossi clocked Prentiss, Reid and Morgan's swift movement towards the man and they followed close behind.

"How about we go for a little walk?" Rossi whispered into the man's ear who did not turn or seem startled but rather too calm as if he was waiting for this to happen.

He kept his head low and did not say anything on the journey back to the police headquarters, Sam and Dean wished that they had been able to ride in the car alone with him but unfortunately that was not possible.

As the still silent suspect was led away for questioning, Sam, Dean and Bobby all huddled together, all watching from a distance and all uncharacteristically at a loss for both words and any idea of what to do.

"You think we've got him?" Sam hissed.

Bobby shook his head, "beats me."

"What do we _do_?" Dean forced himself to speak in a whisper, though he was so aggravated that just staying on the spot took huge strength of will. "We can't just leave them in there with a demon, it's not-"

"Safe?" Sam supplied.

Bobby recoiled in mock horror, "unsafe? Demons? You don't say! And here I was thinking they were docile creatures."

"We're just-"

"You're just idjits, is what you are." At this point, Prentiss and JJ walked past, deep in conversation, and paused to give them a curious – if not quite suspicious – look. Bobby gave them a quick nod of polite recognition and then wheeled away into a more discrete corner, gesturing to the boys to follow him.

"We can't just leave them," Dean said again, though with less conviction. He was growing less sure about any aspect of this case by the minute.

"We don't even know if this is our guy." Truth be told, most of Bobby was still all up for diving right in there and exorcising the son of a bitch. Just two things were stopping him – his trust in Rossi and his trust in his own intuition. "Dave's in there. He's a good guy – one of the best."

Dean rolled his eyes, "he's just a freakin' _cop_, Bobby! I'm sure he's good at his job, but..."

He was interrupted by a shrill ringing. Bobby pulled out his phone and put it to his ear.

"Dave."

Dean turned to Sam, a disbelieving expression on his face. Sam was determined to stay neutral. He liked Rossi – liked the whole team, actually – but he wasn't sure about trusting even a clued in top agent with this case, which was getting stranger by the minute.

He thought back to Cas, his sudden, unexplained appearance and his strange stilted words. At the time, they'd all assumed whatever he was talking about was unrelated to this simple possession case – that it had more to do with the whole apocalypse-on-their-doorstep predicament they were facing.

Now, he wasn't so sure. What if Cas was trying to warn them about this case? What if it was all hopeless?

Or what if this had more to do with the bigger picture than they'd thought?

"Haven't got anything out of it so far, but they're keeping us updated. First sign we're needed, he'll get us." Part of Dean was still hankering for a fight, but he knew it was hopeless. Bobby had good instincts, and he'd been in the game a lot longer than they had.

They'd already humiliated themselves with a botched exorcism once (sort of – the exorcism itself would've worked a treat, was it not for their subject's inconsiderate refusal to _actually be a demon_), already got themselves arrested and already under close scrutiny by most if not all of the agents.

Maybe the best thing they could do for now was wait.

Sam was clearly thinking the same thing.

"Coffee?"

"Pie," Dean countered. Always pie. "Or a burger. Never did finish my damn breakfast."

If he was going to get to the bottom of this, he was going to do it on a full stomach.

* * *

It was no use. The man was clueless - or at least, that was what he wanted them to believe. If it was a front, it was a strong one.

He'd played dumb almost from the offset, not seeming surprised when Rossi wanted to walk with him but slipping into Clueless Random Mode the second Rossi tried to talk to him. HIs eyes had opened wide and his mouth fallen open stupidly, incredulously.

"You wanna arrest me for being in the background of some dumb news report?! I've never even heard of the Night Stabber!"

The man - Bernard Geoffrey, his name was - had been taken in for questioning. Hotch had called Garcia and got her to edit together all the bits of the news reports with Geoffrey in. He was sat down in front of it and then scrutinised and questioned intensely, by Reid and then by Morgan. The man was clearly aggravated, but there was nothing pointing to him being a killer, no signs of either guilt or glory; he neither flinched or looked away nor made a show of being stoic when his interrogators went over his possible crimes.

Mostly, he just seemed confused - an image that suggested he was either very smart or very stupid. Right now, they were all inclined to think it was the latter.

"What do you have to say about that, Mr Geoffreys?" Morgan asked, once the tapes had been played and finished and Geoffreys was still staring blankly into nothingness.

The man merely shrugged.

"It's blurry. Looks like my coat and my hair, but I don't remember being there. Even if I was, what does it matter?"

Morgan sighed. Interviewing this suspect was turning out to be a lot more trouble than expected - a lot more than it was worth, as far as he could tell. Geoffreys was something more infuriating even than the most obstinate and cunning criminal: downright stupid.

They realised that they had little to gain interviewing him at the current time, they needed more evidence, the news footage was simply not enough. Taking advantage of legally being allowed to hold him for up to 72 hours without charge, they left Geoffreys to stew in the holding cell while they desperately began to pull together any strands of information that could tie him, or in fact the real unsub, to the murders.

To some of the LAPD it was odd that they were treating this man as a suspect, all he had done was stand in the background of the news reports and even then the tapes didn't show him clearly. The thought had also crossed the minds of the BAU team but there was something about him that didn't sit right in their gut, he was too calm, too collected, too ready to play the system for a man who had nothing to hide.

They needed leverage before they spoke to him again, they were waiting on what Garcia did best, digging up dirt. If there was one thing the BAU didn't like doing it was waiting around when there's a murderer still free from their grasp but they knew they were closing in on him, they would have him soon.


	11. Chapter 11

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 11**

Co-written by the wonderful sexdrugsandoreos

* * *

He'd been following the case in the news, a strange sense of déjà vu rushing over him every time he turned on the TV and saw the faces of those families staring back at him.

It was different this time, of course. Before, there was envy – and confusion, and fear.

Now, there was only pride.

(Everyone says it, don't they? You only really regret the things you _don't_ do.)

What he HAD done was taught them all a lesson – even if they didn't get to live to share it. There is no such thing as perfection. Everything has its flaws, dents and loose screws and you might be able to cover them up for a while, but ultimately, inevitably, the facade will slip and the whole body will collapse.

He's saving them, really. Saving them from having to suffer the slow and gradual process of loss, the dilapidation of a life once strewn with endless, effortless pleasures.

"You!" He raised a trembling finger in the direction of the TV screen, where a pretty blonde woman talked with calm sincerity about the case. His grotty, grimy squat of a 'home' was filled to bursting with empty cans and food wrappers, letterbox piling up with warnings he had no intention of paying any attention to. He'd just tell the landlord they'd been stolen; it was believable enough. His apartment had been broken into five times in the past month, an occurrence he'd long given up on reporting to the authorities. Nobody cared about the people in his apartment block – the Southcliffe scum, that's what they called them, those pretty perfect little families living in luxury just a few minutes away. He wondered if any of them had ever paused to think about people like him, to imagine what it must be like.

He'd met them, of course, when he was better off, actually working though the pay was poor considering how well off his clients were and how much was paid to the big bosses, who as far as he could tell did very little beyond sitting at a desk and shouting on the phone. The end goal had always been the same, but losing his job and his apartment was the final straw. In the two months before this all started, his life had fallen further into ruins than he'd known was possible beforehand. As if he hadn't already suffered enough loss.

Those families wouldn't have to just _imagine_ suffering anymore, walking past street beggars with a headshake and being so moved by charities that they maybe even considered donating a couple of their precious dollars (they wouldn't of course, it's the thought that counts). Everybody suffers, it's just a matter of time and place. That's just the way of the world. That's fairness.

"You," he repeated, though he'd spent so long lost in his own thoughts that the woman had now disappeared from the screen to be replaced by a tall, grey-haired and grave looking man talking very seriously about the state of the economy. He dropped his finger almost sheepishly. "All did better than me at school, probably. Got better jobs. Live in nicer houses. But I won!" He gave a quick, hollow laugh. He knew nobody ever really won, knew his suffering would never really end. He couldn't fix the world, couldn't ever really eliminate suffering. The best he could do was try to even it out.

The news ended, replaced by an advert featuring a group of women talking with alarming enthusiasm about a new extra soft brand of toilet roll. He turned the TV off with a grunt, stood and walked into the study.

Technically a spare room, the study was the one room in his apartment that was actually clean, and the one room he actually liked. It was his masterpiece.

Two left. Just two. Then the cycle was complete, at least for then. He'd have to pull himself together. Move away...losing that house wouldn't exactly be a great loss. Find a new job. That was harder but it wasn't impossible. He was good at his job – and it had its perks.

He checked his watch and checked his reflection in the cracked hall mirror. His mother and father had been beautiful once and he was always told he had inherited their good genes but now he may as well have 'CRIMINAL' written on his forehead, he was the picture of brutish disorder. Luckily nobody ever got close enough to the truth to notice.

Still time for a shower. Big night tonight. Need to be on top form.

On the other side of the country, in a more cluttered but also far more technologically advanced office, Penelope Garcia was also anticipating a big night ahead.

* * *

The evening had turned to night whilst the agents sat in waiting, each of them on edge as the case was dragging on and they were anxious to catch this unsub before more chaos was caused. Suddenly Morgan's phone rang clear and they all sat up alert to hear what new information their technical analyst had found to shed fresh light on the case.

"Hey Baby Girl you're on speaker, tell us what you've got" Morgan called placing his phone on the desk in front of him.

"_So my beauties I think you need to hear this before you go accusing creepy, stalkerish, TV man in there. So since you wanted me to cross examine the families' lives to see where they crossed over I have been digging and I have been digging as that's taken me a while seeing as there were quite a lot of families and certainly a lot of sadness but one common denominator has been found"_

"What is it Garcia?" Prentiss asked.

"_Their photographer. We thought it was just a feature of the house, you know he chooses the perfect all American family, white picket fence, the works and that was just a symbol of it but it seems that in the last six months each of the families have had a professional portrait done of the whole family. At first no warning signs went off, no red flashing lights, no light bulb above my head, nada. Then, I dug even deeper, I mean seriously I was almost in Australia I dug so far-"_

"Garcia!" Hotch warned, none of them were in the mood for her waffle at that moment in time.

"_Sorry sir, yes well the families all used different companies to have their portraits done, living in different parts of LA obviously they used whichever was closest and/or cheapest what they didn't know however was that some photographers are contracted out to different companies as they are all owned by the same person who has branches all over the state of California. This particular photographer who I can now reveal as James Harper is known to be specifically skilled at shooting family photos due to his ability to get good shots of young children and pets, however, 2 months ago he lost his job after he began to become unreliable. Looking back at 34 year old Harper, family was 'perfect' until Mom died when he was 7, Dad became violent and a drunk, spent the rest of his childhood in different foster homes. Here is where the red flashing lights really come in handy, when he was 15, that was the time of the original murders, his foster parents at the time referred him to a psychologist due to him becoming overly interested in the murders, they said they became particularly worried when they followed him to one of the crime scenes at night"_

"He was too young to be our original killer but all the evidence points to him being our copycat" Hotch stated, addressing the rest of the team, "do you have an address Garcia?"

"_Always with predictable questions, yes already sent to your tablets" _

"We love you P" Emily called.

"_And I you, now go catch us a crooked man with a camera and return home to me soon"_

* * *

They were quick to access the house of James Harper was just where Reid predicted, right in the inner city of LA where each of the suburbs he targeted were equidistant from his home. It was no surprise that when Morgan broke down the door that the small, unclean apartment was deserted. It soon became clear that they were looking for the right man as in his back room there where prints of his portraits of each of the families which had been killed with large red crosses over each of their faces. On the other side of the room there were two portraits that were yet to be crossed off his list, they were his next targets but which one he would strike first was unknown.

It was decided that Hotch, Morgan and Prentiss would go to the Gonzales home while Rossi, Reid and J.J. visited the Travis residence. It was early evening so the agents waited patiently outside the homes for signs of an invasion.

_There was a darkness that consumed the entirety of the street, it was common for figures to camouflage into nothingness as they walked the path that was never lit. He had walked this path before, a path that had led to his capture but no more, he was free and he would continue inflicting pain upon those whom most deserved such punishment._

The agents were nearly falling asleep when at 3am there was movement outside the Gonzales household, Morgan silently approached from the back while Hotch and Prentiss followed through the front door, James Harper, dressed fully in black holding the knife poised in his hand, was startled by the intruders to his routine. Little did he know that the Gonzales family had been moved to a hotel earlier in the day when the team first realised the threat to both them and the Travis'. He attempted to put up a fight first wielding his knife wildly before Morgan knocked it out of his hand and Prentiss pulled his arms sharply behind his back constraining him in metal handcuffs. LAPD were approaching the scene as Hotch dragged Harper out of the house and let him now be the responsibility of the local authorities, they had done their job, they had saved two families and that was all that mattered.

* * *

"Hey Baby Girl." It was nearly 6am by the time Morgan finally got in – approximately two hours before he had to set off again. Bed was on his mind, but Garcia was his first port of call. "You're an angel, you know that?"

_"I prefer goddess, but go on."_ There was the slightest hint of a yawn in her voice, but otherwise, Garcia sounded as chirpy as ever. Morgan hoped he hadn't woken her. _"Non-domestic, obviously."_

Morgan laughed. "Well, obviously."

_"Spit it out, sweetcheeks. Even goddesses and superheroes like yourself need sleep occasionally." _There was the sound of shuffling, followed by a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the phone. _"Scratch that. No sleep for the wicked – or the wickedly sexy, it seems. As always, I'm all yours."_

"You're the best."

_"And you are both the sweetest and the most observant. But much as I'd love to listen to you sing my praises, slash state the obvious, all day..."_

"Cut to the chase already? We got him – all thanks to you, no thanks to our reporter friends." Morgan knew it was petty, but he was still annoyed by the so-called reporters' attitudes. They had been cryptic and defensive and downright STRANGE, constantly acting like they were in on some big secret while making little to no actual contribution to the case. Until Garcia had stepped in and saved the day, they'd all been clueless – Sam and Dean (and possibly Bobby; Rossi's obvious trust of the older man made Morgan less quick to dismiss him as useless) at least as much as the rest of them. And at least the rest of them had had the decency to admit it!

He said as much to Garcia.  
_  
"Is that the green-eyed monster I see rearing its ugly head?"_

Morgan blinked. "What? Baby, are you listening to what I'm saying?"

"Ah, yes, but it's all about what you're NOT saying,"

Garcia teased,_ "You know you're the one and only one for me. A girl just needs a little something for those dark, lonely nights when you're off killing baddies – baddies I tracked down, naturally, using the greatest sleuthing skills witnessed worldwide since-"_

"This isn't about Dean flirting with you! The guy's an idiot!" Morgan's reply came out a little more defensive and a little less jokey than intended, and there was an uncharacteristic pause before Garcia spoke again.  
(Maybe it was a little bit about Dean flirting with her – just because he was protective, and this guy didn't exactly seem the trustworthy type.)

_"The lady doth definitely protest too much," _Garcia said, and Morgan was relieved to hear she sounded just as jokey and relaxed as ever._ "So, you got the guy – the ACTUAL CRIMINAL here, not the hunky reporter with those fine, fine arms you just can't seem to stop thinking – or talking – about. I'm assuming there's a but?"  
_  
Morgan sighed."Isn't there always? We've still got our TV guy tucked away in his cell, but, if we don't get anything on him, we'll have to release him tomorrow. Which would be embarrassing anyway, jumping on some random guy and dragging him into jail just because he was maybe in the background of a few news reports, but..."

_"But you still don't trust him? Don't blame you. The guy's shady as hell. I've been doing some digging..."_

Morgan felt his muscles relax. Trust Garcia to know what he needed before he knew it himself. "Of course you have. My angel."

_"Oh, stop. Actually, don't. Lavish me with the endless praise and affection I both crave and deserve – but first, listen to this."_

"Talk to me and then I will release you from your lair, you may go and rest as you deserve it. What have you got on him?"

_"I've been here all night there's no point in going home now Derek. Anyway I have nothing. That's exactly it. According to approximately every record everywhere, the Bernard Geoffrey in question died in a car crash when he was six years old. Also according to his parents. Talk about an awkward phone call – hey, you know your son? Yeah, the one who died forty years ago. He's not hanging around in the background of news reports, is he? They're seventy eight and eighty four and they were convinced I was trying to sell them something. Ended up having to promise them double glazing just to get them talking."_

Morgan chuckled softly, but his mind was racing."But baby, this guy has-"

_"A valid passport, driving permit, the full monty. We've even got a birth certificate! All coming back to this kid who died all those years ago. There are no loopholes. No! I don't miss loopholes."_ She killed Morgan's doubt before it even began to form in his mind._ "I am the QUEEN of loopholes. I have an inbuilt loophole radar. You want to hear something even creepier?" She didn't wait for a response, clearly assuming that he did. "He's got a photo of them in his wallet. Mr and Mrs Dead-Son. I looked them up and it's the same people. This is identity theft taken to a whole new level."_

"Calm down baby. You're the best. We both know it." Garcia made a noise of agreement. "If anyone can get to the bottom of this, you can. I suppose this means we're may have to stick around a little while longer until we understand who Mr Geoffrey really is. If you're so insistent that you're going to stay hardhead then you just do your thing and I'll handle the rest." He could hear her typing furiously already and smiled in spite of himself. This case was crazy but they'd handled crazier and come out the other side. No reason to believe this should be any different.


	12. Chapter 12

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 12**

A/N - So lovely readers please don't think the story is over, this is the pivotal chapter which will provide clarity. We have been planning this twist from the beginning so we would be **really** grateful if you could let us know what you thought after reading, whether you were surprised or you think we played it out properly because our whole story has relied on this moment, thank you so much for remaining loyal.

* * *

The Los Angeles police headquarters were quiet and dark, there were few sounds to be heard throughout the large building. The unlucky officers who had to pull an all-nighter to finish reports were dozing with their head resting lazily on their folded arms or tediously typing each word carefully so not to misspell a word incorrectly in fear of having to redo the work. On the third floor the atmosphere was different, homicide. The officers there were celebrating. They – along with 'some' help from the FBI – had caught their serial killer and he was on his way back to be arrested. They had been under the orders of the BAU team for a week now and prior to that they had been working around the clock trying to stop the murders from occurring, but they couldn't. They were looking forward to going back to straight forward gang or drugs related murders that they were able to clear up within several days, they were hoping to not be involved in such a brutal case again for a long time.

Across the room from the officers sat Sam, Dean and Bobby, to everyone else they were irritating reporters who were getting in the way of the investigation but amongst themselves they had thought they were solving the case, once they had overheard the call informing them that the real killer had been caught they were beginning to doubt themselves.

Dean paced up and down shaking his head, how could they have got it so wrong? The BAU team believed it was someone copycatting the original murders, who has ever heard of someone copying the murders of a demon? Then there was the question of Sheriff Robert Blundell, it was clear from his note that it was a demonic deal so why had the original demon come to collect his debt and not continued his work? Or even stopped the human who was now taking credit for his work? There was the possibility that Harper was the demon's new vessel but it seemed unlikely, the profile fit and the BAU were able to arrest him with no problems at all.

So where did that leave them?

"There is something very wrong with this case" Sam stated looking up at his brother who continued to pace backwards and forwards like a caged lion in front of the desk where he and Bobby sat.

Dean stopped and frowned at him, "really Sammy?" he cried sarcastically, he was tired of this case, he was tired of not knowing who or what he was chasing, he was tired of doing things by the FBI's say so and, though he thought he would never think this, he was actually tired of LA.

"Now boys let's just think this through, who is our guy in the holding cell? This is the perfect opportunity to talk to him" Bobby suggested.

Dean ran his hand over his face, the guy downstairs! With all the drama that had occurred in the last few hours he had forgotten that they hadn't gotten to the bottom of him yet. If he was sure of anything it was that Bernard Geoffrey was not who he said he was, but that left them with the question, where did he fit into the equation?

"We will, but do we think this Harper guy really is the murderer? Was there no demon after all?" Sam asked voicing the questions that had been running through his brother's mind.

Bobby shrugged, "he could be the murderer but this case definitely isn't smooth sailing, there have been inconsistences all the way through and the answers are definitely with Mr TV down there"

Dean nodded and walked towards the door which led to the holding cells, "right, it's time to pay him a visit"

* * *

As the holding cells were down several flights of stairs, they had to abandon Bobby and venture down to interview their suspect alone.

The corridors were eerily quiet and a cool, morning draft blew through the open windows, as they crept down the stairs with their guns tucked discretely into the back of their jeans and Ruby's knife hidden in Sam's jacket they both already felt chills running down their spine, they had a bad feeling about this.

They glanced at each other as they reached the correct floor, they were not strangers to facing the unknown but, no matter how much they would deny it, it always left them feeling slightly vulnerable as compared to knowing the monster which was ahead. Sam took a deep breath and pushed the door open, it creaked loudly eliminated any element of surprise they would have previously had. Looking through the slightly rusted bars, which still had the required strength to incarcerate the criminals of the city, they found that every cell was empty. This was surprising and strange to the brothers who had had several experiences of the prison system themselves, why would their suspect be the only occupant in a city that large? The amount of lawbreakers they arrest at one time was evident by the row of cells ahead of them which obviously they felt was necessary when building the police department. Finally they reached the cell of Bernard Geoffrey and Sam looked at his brother, his mouth slightly open.

It too was empty.

Dean turned around and slammed his hand on the bar opposite which echoed loudly through the empty facility, "what the hell is going on around here?" he exclaimed. He then heard a soft chuckle echo through the air, he could not be sure if he had imagined it or not, he remained alert and brought his hand to his gun.

"I think I can be of some assistance"

The boys whipped around to find a man in a beige trenchcoat standing in the cell examining a small piece of what seemed to be coloured paper, "Cas!" Sam cried.

"Cas you better start telling us what the hell is going on or I swear I will scramble your wings so much that you will fly like Dumbo on speed!" Dean cried through gritted teeth, he was tired of being messed around, he knew that there was something wrong with this case but still Cas had been vague with them the whole time and he was sick of it.

His eyes did not leave the paper in his hands, "I tried to warn you earlier but something was pulling me back, they didn't want me to tell you but I've fought them, or else they will now let me talk to you, you can now know the truth" he stated simply.

"And that is…?" Dean sighed.

Cas walked to the bars and placed the shiny paper in his hand, "none of this that you see is real, you have been on a television show called 'Criminal Minds'. This is the work of the one you call-"

Suddenly Cas then vanished from inside the cell, "Cas!" Dean cried.

Sam looked around wildly, "what does he mean? We've been on a TV show this whole time, how is that even possible?"

Dean couldn't reply, he turned his back on his brother droning out his persistent waffling, he needed to think. Everything had seemed so real they had no reason to think that they weren't working a real case so how-

Dean's thought process was soon stopped. He glanced down at the coloured paper, which he then realised was a sweet wrapper, that Cas had handed to him moments before, it made all made sense. Fantasy made reality. Men in green coats stealing cats. Unicorns eating candy.

They only knew one person capable of that…

"-Me!" They turned around startled and there he stood as bold as ever, "howdy boys! Long time no mess with your heads" he smiled cheerily leaning against the prison bars, "it's time to go back now"

Before they could say another word he placed his hands on their shoulders and they were transported away from the LAPD holding cells.

* * *

Dean opened his eyes to see himself stood in a bright room, there was a strong smell of disinfectant in the air and there were people pushing past him. He looked down to see he was wearing a white lab coat and Sam was stood beside him, wearing exactly the same attire.

After moments of confusion and Sam being slapped twice by Dr. Ellen Piccolo, the sexy yet earnest doctor at Seattle Mercy Hospital, Dean came to realise that they had been transported into the complex, dramatic, hospital soap opera world of Dr Sexy MD.


	13. Chapter 13

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 13**

A/N - Thank you for your support, we were going to split the story here and make a sequel but we decided to continue. Yes you will be confused once more but all will be made clear in the next chapter we promise! As ever this story is co-written by my fabulous partner in crime sexdrugsandoreos

* * *

Almost exactly 24 hours had passed, and the boys' heads were still reeling. It felt like it had been both months and minutes - an effect of the shock, probably, though for all they knew some freaking archangel was redefining time just to mess with their heads. At this point in time, it would really be more an irritation than a surprise.

It was simple, really. It wasn't a big deal, Dean told himself, and told Sam, fiercely ignoring the lump in his throat and churning in his stomach that said otherwise. Gabriel had tricked them - not for the first time and probably not for the last. He was a trickster, after all, by nature if not technically by name. Putting them through show after show after show - making a mockery of them, all for the sake of some stupid 'lesson'; frustrating as this was, it was hardly new.

Even by their own personal standards, the experience had been surreal. One minute he'd been in Los Angeles, working with some cranky FBI guy on a possession case that got stranger by the minute, and then –

And then they were whisked away into TV Land…except that they'd already been there. Dean had caught the end of the news that morning – just enough to see the weather, and when they'd mentioned Los Angeles he'd felt an unfamiliar chill creep down his spine. It had all felt so _real_. The night before, after hours of restless tossing and turning, he'd just begun to drift off to sleep when a loud, strangled mew from outside woke him up. It had made him think of the crazy old lady – of all the old people, and of Morgan, apparently a hit with the goddamn pensioners, and the memory had felt so real that he'd snatched Sam's laptop and googled 'Rose's Café, Los Angeles' to see if it really existed.

No results.

(Nothing relevant, anyway; there _were_ some very interesting looking 'Rose's in the Los Angeles area, a couple of which he'd quickly bookmarked for future reference. Research purposes, obviously.)

"Well, that doesn't prove anything," he'd insisted, when Sam had come to see what he was doing and shook his head at him. "Place was crawling with oldies. Probably never even _heard_ of the internet."

"Dean…"

"Yeah, I know, it's not real," Dean closed the laptop and pushed it aside, heading back to bed before Sam could take the conversation any further. "Goddamn angels. Just go to sleep."

* * *

Dean's mind was still racing when he slid into the diner booth opposite Sam the next day, who had been shooting him sideways glances all day. He was clearly reluctant to bring up Gabriel's 'lesson' with his brother; did that mean he didn't trust him? Did he think that he would give into Michael? Or was he thinking of wearing Lucifer to prom himself?

Either way, there was silence between the two brothers until a young, attractive, blonde haired waitress in a pale pink dress with a short white apron covering it walked to the edge of their table.

"What'll it be, boys?" she smiled, leaning forwards in a way that could only be interpreted as seductively.

Sam frowned at the menu filled with high calorie meals as usual, he sighed, "I'll have the chicken salad" he handed the menu to her, he knew that the salad would probably be lavished in fattening dressing and oils but it was the closest he was going to get to 'healthy'.

In contrast Dean smiled at the all the various, delicious choices that were at his disposal, "I will have the special..." he glanced at the waitress' name tag, "...Rebecca, one triple meat feast burger, your coldest beer and one of your Chef's best pies" he grinned up at her.

Rebecca laughed and shook her head at Dean's charm as she left them fully aware he was still staring after her while she walked away.

Once she was out of sight Dean continued to grin to himself "you're disgusting, you know that right?" Sam said giving his brother a disapproving look.

"Human nature Sammy, you can't deny human nature."

Sam rolled his eyes. He knew it was time to breach the subject of the day before.

"Dean, about yesterday-"

"-Sammy I get we need to have the whole couples counselling feelings talk about what Gabriel was trying to teach us, but not now ok? Right now I'm going to eat my burger and my pie, drink my beer and be happy with life. Who knows how long we've got?"

Sam sighed, he was doing it again. Bottling up his feelings and pretending that he didn't care when he evidently did.

Once Rebecca returned with their food Dean grinned down at his burger which was oozing with grease making Sam feel physically sick.

He kept his eyes averted from Sam's, feigning ignorance of his brother's blatant attempts to initiate conversation. As crazy as the past few days had been, Dean was all for brushing it under the carpet and carrying on as normal - as close to normal as they ever got, anyway. That was the best way forward. That was constructive. It wasn't his fault if Sam had watched one too many Jerry Springer episodes and decided that they needed to talk it out.

"We need to talk about this, Dean. We need to work something-"

Dean looked up from his burger, an expression of mocking condescension on his face. "Come on, you're a big boy now, Sammy. You can eat that up all by yourself. So tuck in." Smiling at his own wit, he leaned forward to take a bite.

Grease rolled down his chin and Sam shook his head and stood up, abandoning the conversation and his predictably oil-coated salad, "I'm going to the head"

Dean grunted in acknowledgement, unable to tear himself away from his beloved food.

Sam could not help but smile at his brother, despite the amount of times he had complained about him he had always been there for him no matter what he'd done and he knew he always would and they would face this apocalypse together.

* * *

After wiping his hands on his jeans Sam walked back through the diner towards his booth but before then his attention was caught by the small TV propped at the end of the bar. It was showing the news channel, freak storms occurring in the south, economic crisis, 'nothing new' he thought and began to walk away again when the news reader made him stop in his tracks.

_"Today following the capture of the Night Slasher copycat in Los Angeles, the FBI will provide a statement..."_

Sam whipped around and turned the volume up on the TV before positioning himself on a bar stool right in front of the screen. Then to his sheer disbelief the face of David Rossi, who he had believed to be a fictitious character on the TV show 'Criminal Minds' for the past 24 hours, appeared and began to deliver a statement describing the capture of James Harper. He concluded by thanking the LAPD for their cooperation and hard work and also their outside consultants.

As quickly as he could he darted across the diner to Dean who was now devouring his pie, "what took you so long? I thought you'd fallen in!"

"No Dean you need to watch this!" he panted getting the news reel on his phone and placing it in front of him. Sam watched his brother's face change from that of bemusement to shock, once it had finished his mouth was hanging open.

"That's not possible" he said slowly "we were in TV land with Gabriel, 'Criminal Minds', he was Bernard Geoffrey, Cas said..." he trailed off, he could not explain it, reality had been distorted beyond recognition, he did not know what to believe anymore.

"Bobby will know what's going on, he'll explain it all" Sam said as he began to dial the number, if anyone could provide clarity it would be Bobby.

It took roughly thirty seconds of dial tone until his gruff voice finally answered the phone, "hello"

"Bobby-" Sam began.

"You boys better have a real good reason for ringing me the minute I get home"

Sam glanced wearily at Dean, "erm we were just wondering you know David Rossi don't you?"

A growl escaped down the phone, "I don't know if you boys are drunk or just damned stupid but talk to me when you have something sensible to ask!" and the line went dead.

Sam just looked at Dean, neither of them knew what that meant or what they should do next.


	14. Chapter 14

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 14**

A/N - Thank you again for all your support, it means so much, hopefully this chapter will provide clarity.

* * *

At the moment he was happy. Well as happy as an archangel in witness protection could be. He had been living under the radar for a long time and mostly enjoyed being known as the 'Trickster'. On earth he had built a reputation for himself amongst hunters for centuries - maybe longer, he'd lost count - but never had he had more fun than in the past few years after he had met the infamous Sam and Dean Winchester. It wasn't just the fun element either, he genuinely did like to act as their moral compass, their personal teacher as they moved through life.

This time he hoped he hadn't gone too far.

He had been in his idea of heaven - which he preferred much more than the real deal - surrounded by beautiful women and lots of sweet confectionaries but now he sat alone in a dark, empty apartment. He was overindulging, making up for the time he had lost but even that didn't fill the hole that had been made by their loss. He acted as if he was cocky, arrogant and did not care but the truth was he did, too much. He had had to relive Dean's words again, 'you're too scared to stand up to your family'. Maybe he should have returned to heaven earlier, maybe he could have prevented all this but it was too late for maybes now.

Even before he was pulled away he knew it was coming, they needed answers and he would be the only one who could provide them. He was taken from his solace at the apartment he had resided for the evening and found himself surrounded by high flames, on the other side of the wall of fire stood the outlines of the Winchesters.

Gabriel stuck his bottom lip and nodded in mock appreciation, "summoning an archangel? You're getting smarter boys but are we really doing the whole holy oil thing again?"

Dean smirked and threw the can on the floor which he had used to pour the oil moments before, "just a trick I learnt from a friend when summoning a dear brother of yours Raphael"

Sam then took control of the interrogation, "why were the BAU team on the TV and why did Bobby remember the case?"

Gabriel sighed dramatically and preceded to sit down cross legged in the middle of the ring of fire, "oh this is terminally boring, because you solved it! The Night Slasher? Ring any bells?"

"But it was a TV show, Criminal Minds, that's what Cas told us-" Sam began with the same frown knitted on his brow as there was when he was sitting in the diner.

"-Cas, Cas, Cas. Always getting the wrong end of the stick that one, no. He just assumed that because I zapped you into TV land that that case was part of the act, nope. It was just me teaching you boys another lesson, man I'm getting good at that!" he smiled to himself.

Dean was becoming angry at Gabriel's attitude and clenched his fist as he moved closer to the flames, "so you murdered all those families?"

The angel chuckled to himself as he stood up again to face the brothers, "listen I don't kill innocent people, hello nicest archangel out of the four! I found this little case very interesting, a mortal imitating a demon's kills ooh there is a story there! And you my two knuckleheads solved it, well done!" he clapped mockingly at them.

"So what's lesson this time Gabriel? This is all crap about not killing innocent people, you killed me God knows how many times to prove your precious point!" Dean spat through gritted teeth.

Gabriel stroked his chin, "you're not really innocent though are you Dean? Your lesson this time class is about perception"

"Perception? What are you talking about? The fact that we thought it was real and then it was actually a TV show and now it's real again? Or that we thought it was a demon when actually it was human committing those murders?" Sam asked trying to bring some sense into the whole situation as Gabriel was yet to provide them with any answers.

"Both, partially. You boys really haven't figured it out yet have you?"

The brothers looked at each other with blank expressions on both their faces.

Gabriel sighed, "what year do you think it is?"

"2009, it's November 2009" Dean frowned glancing at Sam unsure where that question was leading.

The angel shook his finger at them, "and here is where the lesson of perception is learnt. Yes that case you solved was in 2009 along with innocent 2009 Cas, happier 2009 BAU Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, paralysed but alive 2009 Bobby Singer and of course the broken brothers of 2009 Sam and Dean with all the worries of the apocalypse ahead of them, aw"

"What the hell are you saying!? You brainwashed us and sent us back in time, what year should we be in?" Dean growled moving ever closer to the flames but they acted as a good barrier as he was close to throttling him.

"2013, summer to be precise. A time when I'm supposed to be dead, yet here I am messing with your little heads again" he grinned pacing within the circle in which he was being held.

Sam sighed, it was as if Gabriel was giving them lots of pieces of a jigsaw that didn't fit together, nothing he was saying was making sense, "then why mess with us now? Sending us back four years, what are we supposed to learn from all this?"

"Wow you boys have got stupider since I've been away. Perception and purpose. Back in 2013 we have big problems in our midst, the angels have fallen and are banished from heaven and, let me reiterate, I am the nicest archangel of the four and therefore I am bending the rules to try and save my brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, that involves needing you two. You were so set on closing the gates of hell that you didn't see what was in front of you: dear Cas' brainwashed type behaviour, poor Sammy's heartbreak, Dean's betrayal with a creature you once called your enemy and of course Megatron's mega plan. You could have cracked it but no, you were on the edge of losing your profit and you thought you'd turn to the innocent undercover angel, you won't make that mistake again"

"How are you doing this if you're supposedly dead?"

He grinned again, "I have my ways but I could only do it through the last times I saw you boys and seeing as the last time my dear brother killed me I thought the best way to get to you would be before I sent you into TV land, good times!"

"Gabriel I'm pretty set on killing you again myself at the moment now send us back!" Dean growled.

"Not just yet, if you go back, Sammy's not in too great shape but here despite getting over a demon blood addiction you're in perfect health"

"So you're just going to leave us in 2009 with all of our memories from the future gone?" Sam cried shaking his head in disbelief.

"No no no, that would be cruel, I'm sending you to… hmm… the tail end of 2012? Yes, I need you to solve heaven before it becomes a shambles" he nodded.

"You can't just keep transporting us through time, Cas said it's too complicated-"

Gabriel sighed, "can we stop thinking Cas is law for a second and remember that I'm an archangel? Jeez I'm glad you haven't seen God Cas yet!"

"What?" both brothers exclaimed.

"You'll remember soon enough, so let me out of this fire pit and I'll let you get back to saving the world, again!" he smiled rubbing his hands together eagerly.

"So we're going to get our future memories back then of the angels falling and whatever crap has happened in the future?" Dean folded his arms across his chest sceptically.

He titled his head and shrugged, "some, I can't have you altering the future too much, there are some things that just need to play out and you may be tempted to change them"

"Gabriel I am getting sick of how little you're telling us-" Dean began.

"-One question, are we ourselves from 2013 or ourselves from 2009?" Sam interjected.

"We'll aren't we inquisitive today Sammy? You are indeed your 2013 selves with altered memories because I'm clever, your 2009, if I recall correctly, have just received a rather urgent text from one profit a Chuck Shurley, I did like him, I wish I knew what happened to the guy but then there is good old Kevin and he really has proved himself... anyway! Come on, out we get, we have a heaven to save" he cried enthusiastically.

Dean looked at Sam who simply shrugged, they had no other choice, if they didn't let him out then they would be stuck in 2009 and who knows what would happen to the future? Nothing Gabriel said made sense to them but they hoped it soon would once they had been sent to save heaven, how exactly they were supposed to do that they didn't know.

Uncertainly, Dean pressed the fire alarm allowing the sprinklers to activate and cause the flames to be extinguished.

Gabriel stepped out and smiled, "good luck, you'll know what to do"

They were about to protest at his vagueness when he placed his hands on their shoulders and they were lurched through time.

* * *

The brothers awoke on the cold, damp ground with the darkness surrounding them.

Dean looked up wearily and saw a tall figure standing over them, he could see his grin illuminated by the one flickering streetlight the rest of him camouflaged by shadow.

The silence was deafening as the brothers had no idea where they were or what was standing over them. The figure moved slightly close, only two words escaped from his mouth.

"Hello boys"


	15. Chapter 15

**Reflection or Perception?**  
**Chapter 15**

Co-written by the fabulous sexdrugsandoreos

* * *

"Hello boys" Crowley grinned down at them.

Dean cursed under his breath and rubbed the back of his neck as he stood up, his memories were slowly returning and he was silently thinking how much he wanted to kill Gabriel, again, at that moment. Sam gave him a sideways glance as he regained his balance too.

"What do you want Crowley?" Dean growled wanting some clarification as to exactly when Gabriel had sent them to.

He paced in front of them and tapped his chin. "Hmm let me think… a prophet… goes by the name of Kevin Tran and a little thing I like to call the demon tablet!" he snapped.

"We have no idea where Kevin is, or the tablet," Sam replied honestly as it was true, he couldn't remember where he was. He frantically replayed the events of the past year through his head, was Kevin hiding with his mother? Or had the 2012 them already sent him to stay with Garth?

Crowley chuckled and swung his hand to the right causing them to be thrown off their feet and be flung against the cool brick wall, "now why don't I believe you?" he sang pacing in front of them again, "you may have forgotten but I'm the King of Hell and you two insignificant worms will tell me what I want, if you want all your limbs to remain attached to one another that is." Sam glanced at Dean as they were still pinned against the wall, they needed to shake Crowley and fast, their issues with him were not their concern at the moment, their counterparts were sorting Hell while they were sorting Heaven. "Now, I'm going to ask you nicely one more time, what happened to Kevin and the other half of the demon tablet after your little stunt with your angel?"

Sam smiled in spite of himself, Crowley had just given him the clue he needed to pinpoint where they were in their lives, Cas had helped them rescue Kevin after he was kidnapped and tortured by Crowley, once they had got him got with only his finger missing that was when they sent him to Garth's, he was safe.

"Something funny Moose?" he asked raising his eyebrows at him.

Sam's face immediately returned to a serious state, "not at all"

Dean sighed, "listen Crowley, we're not hiding Kevin in our pockets and Sam hasn't got your tablet in his bra so if you don't mind we have things to be getting on with."

"Are you deaf moron!?" he roared in Dean's face, "you are not going anywhere until I know the location of Kevin Tran!"

Dean thought desperately, his mind flicking through faces and names and ideas that he cast aside in frustration before they were even fully formed.

_Castiel._ Cas could help. He was the only one.

He was at the heart of this all; for all his good intentions, Cas was a pretty big part of the problem. But maybe he could be the solution.

It was desperate. Dean knew from experience that Cas wasn't exactly in his right mind right now, lost and confused and firmly under Naomi's grip – and some part of him, his heart or his intuition or whatever, knew that it couldn't possibly be that easy. Nothing ever was – not when Winchesters and angels and the freaking King of Hell were involved.

Still, he had to try.

"Cas if you can hear me, we need you now, please," he barely whispered under his breath.

He'd barely got the words out when a beam of light appeared, illuminating the dark alley.

"What the hell-?" Crowley began shielding his eyes, before realising that this was the work of angels and feeling it was best to abandon the interrogation for his own safety. "Oh, screw it. Interfering winged bastards-"

The grip on Sam and Dean loosened, then disappeared altogether. Crowley had gone, but the light was still shining.

"Cas?" Dean called uncertainly into it.

The light soon faded away and in its place stood a man dressed in simple clothes, a man they had not seen since their experience in heaven several years ago, the man who could talk to God.

"Joshua?" Sam frowned, looking to Dean for clarification.

"Wrong angel." Dean didn't bother to hide the disappointment in his voice. As angels went, Joshua was one of the better ones – don't shoot the messenger and all – but he wasn't any good to them. All he could do was bring them news – and Dean had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't going to be the good kind. "Admin's really gone downhill since Daddy left, huh?"

Joshua just smiled serenely, gesturing for them to sit down on a stone bench. Too preoccupied by the minor threat of the King of Hell (to be fair, they _had_ faced worse –and come out on top, somehow), Dean hadn't been paying enough attention to their surroundings to deduct if it had been there the whole time or magic-ed into existence for their convenience. Either Joshua or the universe had a fine sense of irony; both sides and the back of the bench were covered with carved pictures of angels.

"Sam and Dean. It's been a while, hasn't it? You've certainly been through a lot. Both of you..." His dark eyes flickered from Sam to Dean and back again, seeming to pierce right through them. "It's very impressive. Everyone's very impressed."

"'Everyone'?" Sam raised his eyebrows and Joshua chuckled lightly.

"Maybe not quite everybody. But you've got a bigger following up there than you'd think."

"Yeah, okay, cut the cryptic crap." Dean lacked both the time and the effort for Angel Talk. "Where's Cas and what do you want?"

A troubled look fell over Joshua's face, one Sam and Dean knew all too well. "I'm afraid the two are one and the same, actually."

Dean's heart sank, but Sam still looked confused.

"Cas? What about Cas? Is he-" Sam stopped mid-sentence, suddenly remembering the absurdity of the situation. "Wait - is this Past, Present or Future Cas we're talking about here?"

"It doesn't matter," Joshua said, "I suppose, theoretically, you could talk to his future self without doing any damage, but-"

"But what? Freakin' butterfly effect or something? We get Cas to save your asses and the world implodes?" Dean was properly angry now, though he wasn't sure who with. Not Joshua - God, maybe?

The whole world just seemed so damn ungrateful. They were only trying to do the right thing. They were only ever trying to do the right thing.

"That's the gist of it, yes," Joshua sighed as if he genuinely cared, something that irrationally made Dean even angrier. "Archangel or not, Gabriel's playing a dangerous game here. Messing with life and death and time...nothing new to angels maybe, but on this scale?" Joshua stood up slowly. The smile had now vanished from his face, replaced by an expression of grave sincerity. "You somehow getting hold of Castiel - if you could, which I doubt - would be the very final straw. You know I like you boys. But if I was you, I'd stop and have a long, hard think about what you're getting yourselves into here."

"Which is what, exactly?"

Joshua just shook his head; Dean was filled with the almost insurmountable urge to rip it off his shoulders. "I wish I could be more help - I really do. But I need to be getting back now."

"Wait!" Sam's head was spinning. "Wait, Joshua, please -"

"Never trust an archangel," Joshua said simply. The wry, knowing little smile that followed seemed - to Dean's suspicious eyes, at least - almost mocking.

And then he was gone.


End file.
